Over Your Head
by CyborgWithGreatHair
Summary: As Steph's life in Trenton as she knows it starts to fall apart around her, she seeks the help of the only people who have never let her down. Rangeman. Before long she finds herself on a plane to Boston where she starts the arduous task of winning over the hearts of the Boston Merry Men. But who will win her heart?
1. Chapter 1

_Having finished up Little Wolf earlier this evening, I have been given permission by my best, whom we all should know by now, rules my life, to start posting the story I started writing a while ago but wasn't allowed to post until I'd finished a story. Here it is._

 **Over Your Head**

 **Chapter One**

It's started with a disaster. Of course it did. My life was just one disaster after another. It makes sense that it started with an explosion of fire and car parts. I wasn't even anywhere near the car when it happened. I'd ducked into Macy's to buy a new pair of sneakers after my previous pair had been destroyed beyond repair (the right one had been eaten by a dog and the left vomited on, there's no coming back from that). I wasn't in there that long. Just long enough to find the cheapest pair of sneakers in my size – no point in spending the extra money when they're just gonna be ruined in a month or two anyway – and get out. I was at the counter paying for them when it happened.

The building shook with the force. Little kids screamed. Big kids yelled about alien attacks. Adults cried out things like "Earthquake!" and "Bomb!" At least some of them were right. It was a bomb. It was a car bomb.

It's always a car bomb.

While shop assistance and security guards tried to keep everyone calm and safe, I found myself running for the exit. I wasn't the only one, but unlike the others, I had a pretty good idea of where the explosion had originated even before I made it to the carpark. Just as I reached the doors, another explosion shook the ground. I almost lost my footing. A few people around me did.

I stood on the concrete outside the mall staring at the blaze on the other side of the lot. The good thing is, I have shit luck with the parking fairy, so the car was nowhere near the building when it went off. That could have been disastrous. Given the size of the blaze, it could have caused a lot of damage to the building if I'd managed to get a park in front of the doors like when Ranger or the Merry Men are driving. The bad thing is, I also have shit luck with cars, so while I wasn't particularly shocked to see my car go up in flames, the fact that it was now spreading to others around it did not bode well. We needed to evacuate mall to a safe distance away.

Like Australia.

I started backing up, back towards the entrance, but people were still streaming out, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on. No sense of self-preservation at all in this crowd. So all I could do was stand there. Staring. Feeling the waves of heat buffeting me, burning my face.

Another car exploded. Sending shockwaves through the air. I'd be lucky to have eyebrows if this kept up. The vibrations from that last blast seemed to last forever. Until I realised it was my phone ringing in my pocket.

I dug it out. Grimacing.

"Hey Joe," I sighed.

"Just heard of a car explosion at the mall," he said lightly. "That wouldn't happen to be you, would it?"

I rolled my eyes. I could hear sirens now, but wasn't sure if it was coming from the phone as he raced to the site, or if it was because emergency services were drawing near. "Just one explosion?" I asked. "No, that can't be me. There've been three where I am. Must be a different mall." I'd found that sarcasm was one of my best defences. He'd long since stopped believing my denials, so now I wore a suit of sarcasm. The Merry Men found it hilarious. Joe, and Ranger less so.

" _Three?_ " he exclaimed. "For fuck sake, Steph, how do you always get yourself into these situations?"

"I needed new shoes," I said honestly, just as a beeping started in my ear. I was getting another call. Probably Ranger. "Look, Joe, I have to go, and you'll probably be here soon anyway."

"Tell Manoso he can have you," Joe said, sounding frustrated. "I need a break."

I didn't have time to question what that meant before he'd hung up and the phone was ringing again. Right in my ear. I moved it away long enough to accept the call and then returned it. "Hey Ranger," I said.

"Babe," he replied. And without the subtle differences in his barely there facial expressions it was hard to tell what exactly he was getting at. It could have been a 'glad you're alive'. Then again, it could have just as easily have been a 'how do you get yourself into these situations?' just like Joe asked.

"It wasn't my fault," I told him.

"It never is." He sounded calm, but Ranger always sounded calm. Even when he was flying off the handle, he was calm. On the outside. In his tone. I was pretty sure there was classical music playing in the background.

"I just needed to buy new sneakers," I said, staring down at the toe of my one remaining shoe and the sock on the other foot. I'd left my new ones at the register when the first blast rocked through the building.

"See you soon," he replied, apparently deciding not to get into the finer details right then.

I was left with dead air and my phone still held to my ear when another car blew up. Pulling the device away from my face, I decided to turn it off before my mother caught wind of the situation and started accusing me of ruining her life. Again. Still.

It didn't take all that long for the fire engines and police cars to start arriving. The latter made sure to park far away from the disaster zone, trekking in on foot from the street. They broke into groups, some to go help put out the fire. Some to usher everyone back into the building. Some to start questioning people. I knew the moment I'd been recognised by the boys in blue, because there was immediately a huddle of about six of them, they appeared to be playing Scissors Paper Rock. Or taking bets. It was hard to see properly through the haze of smoke billowing from the other side of the car park.

Eventually one of them craned his neck to look at me, squared his shoulders, said one more thing to the group and broke off. He was heading in my direction, a grim set to his jaw. Clearly he'd drawn the short straw.

"Ms Plum?" he asked. "I'm Constable Roger Rampart, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

It took a lot of effort not to roll my eyes. "It started with my car," I informed him before he had a chance to get a single word out. It was easier this way. "I came to buy new shoes. I was in the store about fifteen minutes when the explosion went off. I don't know of any stalkers or people with a grudge against me at the moment. Honestly, I think the engine was dying anyway, so maybe it just gave up. If I was the car stuck with me I'd probably commit suicide too."

He stared at me for a second, unblinking. Probably shocked at the fact that I could answer all his questions without him asking a single one. He clearly forgot that this wasn't my first rodeo. "Uh, thank you for your cooperation," he said, grabbing out a notebook from his pocket and scribbling some details down. He fished a card out of his chest pocket and handed it to me. "If you think of anything else or anything else happens just-"

"Give you a call," I finished for him. "Thank you Constable."

The moment he walked away, shaking his head lightly, I felt that familiar tingle on the back of my neck. I glanced around, trying to find where Ranger was hiding, but was met with Joe instead.

"Cupcake," he greeted. There was no inflection in his voice. No expression on his face. No teasing glint in his eyes. Normally, this would be the part where he told me what a disaster I was and I would lie to him about what exactly was going on. He'd give me a hug and send me on my way, suggesting pizza and beer later. It was a tango we'd danced a thousand times since I'd become a Bounty Hunter. It was familiar. It was comfortable in that uncomfortable way we'd settled into it.

"I know," I sighed. "I'm a disaster."

"No doubt about it," he agreed.

"It really wasn't my fault," I said, shifting away from the blaze as the smoke began to thicken. I should get out of dodge before I was sent to the hospital for smoke inhalation. "I just needed new shoes." I gestured down to my feet.

His gaze followed. In the past he might have grinned, or at least smiled a little with his eyes. He used to find parts of my disasters amusing. But not now. I'd noticed the last couple of times he'd been called to one of my scenes that his heart just wasn't in it. Even his complaints that I wasn't cut out for the Bounty Hunting business had been lacklustre lately. It was like he was losing interest. Giving up the fight.

We hadn't been fighting nearly as much lately. Arguments were down at least fifty percent from where they were a year ago. And I had thought that that meant we were final maturing. Getting past the petty differences between us. But as I watched him grit his teeth now, his eyebrows knitted together as he stared down at my sock, I realised what it really meant. The lack of fire between us wasn't because we'd finally gotten the blaze under control. It was because we'd already been burnt to a crisp. What we were living in was the blackened ash of the forest fire that was our relationship.

I knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"I'll be over tomorrow to collect my stuff," I said, beating him to the punchline. "I'll text beforehand so you can be there, or not, if you want."

"Steph," he groaned, finally looking up from my feet. His eyes were pure agony. He didn't _want_ to break up.

"It's time," I said gently. "I understand. We can't go on living like this."

"I never wanted it to end like this," he informed me. "I never wanted us to end like this."

I shook my head, and even though a relieved sense of calm was beginning to settle over me, I could feel tears welling up behind my eyes. Break ups were never easy, and just because this one was serene in comparison to our usual method, didn't mean it didn't hurt. It felt like the car fire across the lot had jumped to my heart and was preparing _it_ to explode now. "We both knew it would," I said softly, my voice thick. "We both saw the signs. We just ignored them too long."

Slowly, gently, Joe pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me as he settled his chin on the top of my head. "You're always better when you're with him," he whispered. "You're stronger. You're surer. You're calmer."

"Don't," I gasped, tears spilling out of my eyes and onto his shirt.

"We were never meant to be, Steph," Joe was murmuring. "The moment I saw you with him, I _knew_ he was better for you. I _knew_ he could be the support you needed. You don't belong in the Burg. You never have. No Burg kid tries to fly off the garage roof. But the Burg is all I'll ever be. You need more. Manoso is more. Manoso is the anti-Burg. He's what you need."

I didn't try to stop him. It was the nicest thing he'd ever said about me and Ranger. But I couldn't accept it. I couldn't accept him suggesting I be with him. Now. While my heart is still breaking. I love Joe. I think I always will. I can't imagine my life without him. I can't imagine who I'd be without him in my life. And I can't imagine what my mother is going to say when news reaches her that we've broken up. Again. Or when she realises that I've moved straight on to Ranger.

All I could think about in that moment was the look of disappointment on my mother's face. The way my father would just glance at the man at the table and duck his head over his plate. Not wanting to comment and upset me more than Mom already would have by that point, but not wanting to say he agreed that I'd moved to fast. Again.

"I can't," I mumbled into his chest, sniffing up the snot that was threatening to leak out of my nose. "Don't."

"You and Ranger were meant to be," Joe explains earnestly, pulling away so he can meet my gaze. "Anyone can see it. You'll be happier."

And that's when I snapped. I couldn't do that to my parents. Not after everything else I'd put them through in the last five years.

"Joe, stop," I bit out.

But he didn't. He couldn't. Apparently he was hell bent on giving me his blessing. "You'll _both_ be happier. Together. I think. That's all I ever wanted, Steph. You safe and happy. I realise now that I can't be the man to make that happen. I worry every time you're out of my sight. I hate that you're constantly out there risking your life because I know that there's always a chance that you won't come back. That one day whatever tail you're chasing is going to fight back too hard and you're not going to pull through. I don't know how cops' wives do it."

"Joe," I said again. Louder. More forceful. "Stop." And when he finally met my gaze – at some point he'd returned to staring at my sock – it was full of pain. The kind of pain that only came from a broken heart. This break up, like all our others, had been a long time coming and the fact that it came quietly and without the usual Italian flare made it all the worse. He knew – he had to – that this was the end. The ultimate act of love in our ever tumultuous relationship. If you love someone, let them go, they say. That's what this was.

"I understand," I told him gently, lifting my left hand to caress his face. "I want you to be happy too. And as long as we're together, it's not going to happen. Maybe in a few years we can be friends."

"Maybe," he said quietly.

For the longest time, we just stood there, holding eye contact. I hadn't realised he looked so tired lately. There were bags under his eyes so deep they could probably hold my entire wardrobe. This break up would do him good. Maybe could finally quit worrying himself into an early grave. Maybe he could find himself a nice, demure Burg girl to be his wife. To cook and clean and look after him the way he deserved to be looked after.

Eventually, the smoke got to me and I was seized by a coughing fit.

"You should probably go inside," Joe suggested, glancing around. The spectators had all been cleared away. All that was left were emergency services.

"Right," I agreed. "I need to go see if my shoes are still at the register." I took a single step away, dipping my hand into my pocket to check that my phone was still there out of habit, when my ring caught on the hem of the fabric. Like it always did. I'd finally gotten used to it in the last couple of weeks. Slowly, I removed the hand from the pocket, sliding the ring off my finger and turning to face Joe once more. "I should probably return this to you," I said, holding it out to him, but instead of take it, he stepped backwards, away from me.

"Keep it," he said, holding up both hands, palms out as if to ward me off.

"Joe, it's my _engagement_ ring," I pointed out. "We're-"

"Exactly," he interrupted. " _Your_ engagement ring. I bought it _for you_. You should keep it. It's not like I have any use for it now."

I shrugged, feeling bad for him, but he _did_ initiate this break up, so I wasn't _too_ sorry. "Save it for when that special woman comes along some day," I said, closing the gap between us.

He stepped back again.

"You want me to recycle a wedding ring?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, not when you say it like that," I huffed. "But seriously, Joe, it must have cost a lot. You could always return it."

He shook his head. "I don't think the Burg needs more fule for the gossip forest fire, do you?"

"You're embarrassed," I said.

"Damn right, I'm embarrassed," he admitted. "I bought that ring for you because I thought we were finally going to have our happily ever after and I didn't think you'd want Grandma Bella's potentially cursed hand-me-down ring on your finger for the rest of your life. Besides, there was a guy in there returning a ring while I was buying yours. I don't want those sales girls looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

He shuddered at the very thought. "Pity and hunger."

I stared down at the ring in my hand. A single diamond set in the swirl of a white gold band so that it looked like the metal was cupping it from both sides. It was beautiful. I'd been thoroughly surprised. Shocked, really. Not just because he was _actually_ asking me to marry him. With a ring and everything. But because he'd chosen it so carefully especially for me.

"You really want me to keep it?" I asked.

"I really do. Get it converted into a pendant or something. That'd be nice, right?"

I slipped the ring onto my right hand for safe keeping. "I'll keep it," I assured him. "And thank you."

"Honestly, Cupcake, you're doing me a favour."

"No, I meant for not making a scene."

"Oh, that." He grinned and it was a relief to see that glint back in his eye. "I think our last break up more than made up for it, don't you?"

He had a point. The last time we'd broken up was immediately after yet another one of my disasters. A warehouse was on fire, fire fighters were working frantically on controlling the blaze before it spread to the surrounding buildings. Police were everywhere as well, noting down evidence and talking to witnesses. Workers from the construction site across the road had all clocked off an come over to see what was going on and if they could be of any assistance.

There must have been a hundred people milling around the area when Morelli had rolled up, lights flashing almost as brightly as his temper.

After ensuring that I wasn't injured – aside from the gash in my forearm that I'd received two days earlier in a different pursuit of the same mystery – he proceeded to rant at me for ten minutes strait about safety, security, self-preservation and the likes.

I shouldn't blame him though. I _had_ completely ignored all his very reasonable warnings when I'd mentioned my plan at breakfast that morning. And there I was shaken and fearing for my life. Just like he said I would be.

Anyway, as he rant ended, he stepped forward, but his face still wasn't looking friendly, so I stumbled back away from him, knocking into whoever had been standing right behind me and setting off an elaborate and unfortunate Mouse Trap-esque chain of events that ended with an explosion and the swift evacuation of every person on the premises.

Nothing was _ever_ going to top that scene. It was Joe and I at our worst.

I gave a little smile then. "True," I said. "I'll come by and start packing up my stuff tomorrow."

"Where are you going to stay tonight?" he asked, concerned all of a sudden. Another good point. The lease on my apartment had run out three weeks ago and since Joe and I were both convinced this time was for real, I'd decided not to renew it. I guess I was homeless now. "You should stay at the house tonight," he suggested, clearly following my train of thought. "I'll bunk on Mooch's couch."

I shook my head. "That's ridiculous," I said. "It's your house. I cans stay at Rangeman." And then, because his eyes inadvertently widened with a flash of sadness and he sucked in a sharp breath, despite the fact that he'd just spent the last five minutes convincing me that I was meant to be with Ranger, I added, "They keep one of the apartments on four free in case of emergency."

I was pretty sure this was true. The time we'd rescued a woman from torture and she needed a place to stay while she recuperated that would be safe from the threat of her ex there had been a room readily available for her. It made sense to keep one apartment unoccupied for such occasions and I knew that every now and then one of the Boston or Miami crew members would stay in the Trenton building while here on business, so my theory was no unfounded. Whether or not it was available at this very moment or if I could use it myself, was an entirely different kettle of fish. Usually when I stayed at Rangeman I stayed with Ranger. In Ranger's bed. With Ranger less than three inches away.

"I'll let you know when I'm coming around," I reminded him, stepping away once more.

"I should get to work."

We both nodded a goodbye. Awkward and stiff like we hadn't been ever. And I power limped the best I could back into the cool air of the shopping centre in search of the replacement sneakers I'd abandoned. It wasn't until I'd retrieved the bag that the cashier had thoughtful stowed behind the counter and made my way to a nearby bench to swap over footwear that the tingling on my neck came again.

I'd forgotten about Ranger's presence earlier. Too caught up in the final death throes of my relationship. But now it was impossible to ignore. He'd probably watched the whole exchange at a distance far enough away to be out of direct sight but close enough that he could hear every word. I finished tying the second shoelace and finally laid a hand on the back of my neck, attempting to ease the feeling there.

"Babe," his voice rumbled from directly behind me.

"Ranger," I replied, shifting on the bench to take in the full length of him. I wasn't particularly in the mood to engage in one word conversations right now. I didn't have the brain capacity.

"My condolences," he said.

I shrugged, not for the first time today. "It was inevitable."

His eyebrow lifted at that, like he wasn't expecting that response from me.

"Are you referring to the car or the engagement?" I asked.

"Either."

A sigh erupted from my chest before I could smother it. "Same," I admitted. "I don't know why, but I thought this time would be different."

"Babe," Ranger repeated, sitting down on the bench beside me, facing the opposite way. He didn't look comfortable at all, probably because his back was not up against a wall and therefore vulnerable, but it was clear that I meant more to him than keeping everything in view right at that second. "You really shouldn't expect much from a car you paid five hundred bucks for at the second hand lot next to the junk yard," he pointed out, and I laughed, because we both knew I was referring to Joe, which meant he was making a joke. Trying to cheer me up.

"I was stupid and naïve, wasn't I?" I asked, staring directly into the deep brown pools of his eyes, seeking the truth, but finding only the expressionless stare he wore so often.

"You were in love," he countered.

"I _thought_ I was in love," I corrected. "Clearly I wasn't."

Ranger considered me silently for several long moments, his gaze boring into mine. Finally, he picked up my right hand, turning the ring around my finger a couple of times. "How do you feel right now?" he asked quietly.

I almost choked on the air in my lungs. Ranger didn't do feelings talks. Hell, _I_ didn't do feelings talks. It was uncharted territory for the both of us. I didn't even know how to respond. I wasn't adept at putting my emotions into words. Usually I just ate birthday cake. And there was, of course, the fact that the man I was pretty sure I loved, was asking me about how I felt following the breakdown of my relationship with the _other_ guy I was pretty sure I loved. Surely that was a forbidden topic?

"I, um…" I stammered, staring down at our hands, his thumb was still fiddling with my ring. "Like my heart has been knocked off the mantel piece and smashed to smithereens before being thrust back into my chest," I described honestly. "It's broken and jagged, and causing everything around it to bleed."

"Do you think you would feel like that if you didn't honestly love Morelli?" he asked, further shocking me. We were now deep in the treacherous woods of meaningful conversation. And I didn't know what to do.

"I don't know."

He nodded. Retracting his hand to delve into his pocket. A moment later, he brought out a set of keys. Actual keys. Not a piece of plastic programmed open doors. Not a button to start a car. Real, metal keys with groves and jangling and ordinariness. Slowly and methodically, Ranger began to remove an average sized gold one from the key ring before holding it out to me.

"What's this?" I asked.

"It's the key to Tank's granny flat," he explained. "He said you could use it until you find your own apartment and figure out what you're doing."

"Tank has a granny flat?"

The tiny crow's feet at the corners of his eyes deepened like he was trying not to smile. "Don't worry," he said. "It does _not_ come complete with Tank's granny."

 ** _As always, I welcome your response with open arms. Metaphorically._**


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed or followed or favourited so far. It means a great deal. I'd like to take this opportunity to assure you that I will eventually be getting back to Sink or Swim. My mind just works better when I have more than one project on the go at a time._

 **Chapter 2**

Tank's granny flat was small – about half the size my apartment had been, and mostly just one room – but it was all I needed. It was a place to stay while I figured out my life and where I was going next. It came with free wifi, the offer of storage for my belongings for as long as I needed it while I found my feet and no matter how much I tried to wear him down he refused to accept any kind of rent payment. Not only that, when I snooped through that first night, I found the fridge and pantry already stocked with my favourites – peanut butter, olives, birthday cake, white bread and beer. There were healthier options as well, and I suspected the freezer was stocked with some ready to reheat meals from Ella, but the fact that my staples were there made my heart swell whoever was responsible.

I went back to Joe's place the next day to start packing, just as I'd said I would and was surprised to find that Ranger had provided some muscle to get the job done quicker. Lester Santos was leaning against the front fender of the Rangeman standard issue black SUV, arms crossed over his chest and grinning from ear to ear when I exited Uncle Sandor's indestructible tank of a baby blue Buick.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, glancing up and down the street to determine that, yes, all the neighbours _did_ have their noses pressed to the window. I hadn't had any contact with anyone from the Burg since early yesterday, but I had no doubt (based on the number of missed calls I had from my mother) that they all knew my engagement to Joe was over. Probably there were men in break rooms all over town with their heads knocking together as the placed bets on how long it would be before I was back with Ranger. Women were discussing the mandatory wait period before they could start setting their daughters, nieces, and friends with 'poor, abandoned Joe'. Because he was prime real estate in the Burg.

"Santos Removalists at your service," he replied with a fake hat tip, straightening as I approached. "Just point me in the right direction."

I rolled my eyes, but didn't comment, leading him to the front door and unlocking it with the key that was still on my keyring. I needed to remember to return that to Joe later.

Once inside, Lester dug a Bluetooth speaker and an iPod from the cargo pockets of his pants and set it up on the hall table so that Van Halen was blasting through the entire neighbourhood. I calculated that in order for the gossip grape vine to stay relatively pure, I needed to get Lester carrying boxes out to the car as soon as possible. If they saw me enter the house and neither of us exited again for a while there'd be rumours of an affair that brought about the end of Joe's and my relationship reaching my mother's ears by morning tea. Luckily, when we'd moved everything over from my apartment, there was very little use for it. The house was already fully equipped. So all of my things that weren't clothes, shoes, cosmetics or toiletries had simply been dumped in the first floor spare room.

That's where I took Lester.

"The sooner the sticky beaks out there see you hauling boxes the better," I explained, opening the door, to allow him access.

He gazed around, rocking back on his heels and letting out a low whistle. "Wow," he yelled over the music. "Way to make yourself at home!"

"We'll it's not like we need two toasters and coffee machines!" I pointed out.

He shrugged like he agreed, and stepped further into the room, eyeing the various sizes and shapes of the boxes. Probably he was playing a mental game of tetris to be sure he could fit everything in our cars in the minimum number of trips. I had not doubts it would all fit. The SUV had a massive trunk, and heaps of space in the back seat as well. And it wasn't like I had any furniture to move with. We'd decided that all of my hand-me-downs from family members could be recycled back into the family. I'm sure one of my cousins had kids preparing to leave for college.

"I'll be upstairs packing up my clothes," I informed him when he started shifting things to get to the bigger boxes on the bottom.

He turned and sent me the kind of grin that was renowned as panty dropping to those women who were not intimately aware of what a player he was. "I'll come up and help with your lingerie drawer," he teased.

I shook my head, not bothering to lend mind to his remarks and left him to the boxes. His joking was expected by this point. If Lester made it through an hour without making a flirtatious or mildly sexist comment, we started to think he was getting sick. Once, Cal bet him that he couldn't make it through an entire shift without saying anything suggestive toward or about women, and Bobby had actually dragged him down to the infirmary for a check-up, thinking he probably had a fever or a virus or something. It got to the point where Bobby had suggested a probiotic to help pep him up a bit before Lester finally caved, grabbing his crotch provocatively and replying, "You really think this needs any more pep?"

According to Bobby, Lester had groaned out a stream of unsavoury language as he collapsed back on the bed. Bobby also admitted that Cal had paid him with twelve monito shift covers if he could get Lester to crack. Lester still doesn't know to this day that he was set up. It's embarrassing enough that he couldn't make it through an entire shift without a typically Lester one liner, but to know that he'd be completely played off by his best friend for a few weeks without monitors would be completely vexatious.

I left him to his muscle work, grabbing my suitcase from the hall closet and dragging it upstairs to the bedroom I'd shared with Joe. It felt surreal being there, knowing that the relationship we had, had be striving toward, was over. I don't think it had really sunk in yet at that point. We'd ended our relationship so many times that it was like second nature. I'd learned to guard my heart against it. There had been a few tears yesterday at the time of relationship death, but that was mostly because we were both so calm and he was so accepting that I would end up with Ranger in some capacity, that it was all too real. Joe and I had never had a calm connection. Ever.

It took surprisingly little time to shove all of my clothes into the case, but it took even less time for Lester to stack all the boxes in his trunk. I stepped out of the bedroom with the suitcase in tow to find him backing out of Joe's office.

"What are you up to?" I asked in the conveniently placed gap between songs.

"Snooping," he replied blatantly. "I've never been in the Casa de Morelli before, and I doubt I'm gonna get another opportunity after today. I wanna get my money's worth."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're being here isn't costing you anything," I reminded him.

Lester shrugged, lifting my suitcase by the side handle attempting to leave me behind as he started down the stairs. "True," he called over his shoulder. "But the guys are gonna love knowing that Tough Cop Morelli has lace curtains in his windows and doilies on his desk."

"Left over from his great aunt," I pointed out, hurrying to keep up with him. "And those doilies were conveniently there when he needed a coaster."

He stopped on the bottom stair, suitcase still in hand, like it was nothing more than a packet of crisps, and swung around to face me. I had to grip the rail to keep from falling on top of him. "There are coffee rings and ketchup stains on the coffee table, Beautiful," he said, his serious face on. "You can't convince me that he uses coasters. You can't convince me that the doilies serve any kind of convenient purpose. The dude has doilies and lace and probably a fancy tea pot somewhere."

"Santos," I warned, using his surname to be sure he knew just how serious I was.

"Relax, Steph," he sighed. "I'm only gonna circulate the pictures at Rangeman. We will absolutely not be using this information as blackmail unless he gives us reason to."

"Good," I said, turning to go back upstairs. "Because pretty much everyone already knows about the curtains. And the doilies were actually planted by Mooch after discovering the curtains. It's all common knowledge in the Burg and on the force."

When I reached the top of the stairs, I glanced back to find Lester hadn't moved but was, in fact, standing there with an exaggerated pout on his face, like I'd just poached his birthday cake. "You're no fun, you know that?" he asked.

"You know, I've never heard that before," I said teasingly, scratching my chin in mock thought as he shook his head and walked away. It was no fun arguing with me when I had the upper hand.

My phone started buzzing at that moment and I was dreading checking the caller ID. There was a ninety percent chance that it was my mother calling to try and talk some sense into me. She'd always pushed me to settle down. She was so happy when Joe finally put a ring on my finger. Probably, I was breaking her heart _and_ causing a mental breakdown with this break up. I wasn't prepared to listen to my mother slurring about how I shouldn't throw my life away like this, that I had to give Joe a second (read: thirty first) chance. She'd been talking babies almost since the moment the ring was revealed. It was terrifying.

Slowly, I pulled the device from my pocket and glanced at the screen. Relief washed over me and I hit receive as I bounded down the stairs to turn the music down to a more appropriate level.

"Hey Mare," I greeted, making my way into the kitchen for a much needed glass of water. "What's up?"

"I just heard," she said sounding frantic. "How terrible! I can't believe he would cheat on you like that!"

I'd been all ready to explain that as far as break ups went his one didn't even make it to the top ten in terms of ferocity, but her words confused me. Gave me pause. She continued to rant a little before I managed to puff out, "Wait, what?"

"Joseph Morelli had the audacity to put a ring on your finger and then go off and sleep with some red headed harlot in the back of his truck. Repeatedly," Mary Lou explained patiently. It was the tone "That's what they're saying at the Clip n' Curl. They're saying that Eddie Gazzara threatened to tell you if he didn't. They're saying Eddie and Carl Constanza suggested, in a fifty thousand volts kind of way, that he was scum and that he needed to realise that you deserve better."

"What?" I asked again. That didn't make sense. We'd just had a mature break up. The first ever. We didn't even yell at each other. We realised we weren't a good fit and decided to go our separate ways. "Joe was… cheating?"

"Oh shit!" Mary Lou exclaimed in my ear. "You didn't know?! Oh honey, I didn't mean to dump it on you like that. I thought he'd told you. I thought that's why guys broke up!"

I couldn't think of anything to say. I couldn't think at all. I couldn't barely stay upright. My only saving grace was my white knuckled grip on the fridge door.

"Steph, I am so sorry," Mary Lou was saying. "God he is such an ass! He deserves everything they gave him. And more! He better steer clear of me or I'l-"

But I didn't hear anymore. My hand had moved the phone away from my face and, without my brain's permission, turned the device off completely. By this point, Lester had returned from his latest trip to the car and was poking through the cupboard above the sink.

"These are some fancy tea cups," Lester observed, pulling one down and making a face I recognised as his impression of the Queen of England as he pretended to take a sip. "Does the cop actually use these? I can't imagine him using these. Unless he's drunk and has run out of glasses. Has that happened? They're about the right size for double shots."

"He cheated," I breathed, leaning my back against the fridge. My knees were threatening to give out. I was shaking, I realised as I reached up to tuck a curl back behind my ear where it was unlikely to stay.

"Yeah," Lester sighed, setting the tea cup down and leaning against the counter across from me. He looked dejected. Deflated. "I was supposed to tell you when you arrived," he explained. "Rangeman found out from a not so anonymous tip from your cop buddies last night. They wanted to be sure we were fully aware of the situation so we could support you through it."

"Why wouldn't they just tell me?" I asked. I was numb. I should have been angry. But I was just numb. The Burg does it again. It still surprises me, even after thirty five years of life, how adept this community was at finding out the most private and altering details of my life before I did. It was never ending. Nothing was sacred. A few years ago Henry Klowes broke his penis while attempting to perform an evocative dance for his wife. The whole town had known all the sordid details by the time he reached the emergency room.

Lester shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. It was clear that he wasn't comfortable with this either. It shouldn't have been his job to break the news, even if he hadn't done it. "Maybe they just didn't know how," he said. "It's not exactly the easiest topic to bring up."

"Everyone knows," I breathed. "The whole town. Every single person knows he cheated. How long have they known? Why didn't anyone tell me?" I found myself pacing around the kitchen, my hands flying as my Italian temper took over. "It's my fucking life!" I yelled. "I deserved to know! I've had it with this town! I've had it with these people! Ugh! No wonder he was pushing me back towards Ranger. He probably thinks giving me his blessing is like an apology! The fucking cop cheated!"

"It's pretty fucking despicable," Lester agreed awkward as I reefed open the freezer and hauled out my last tub of Ben and Jerry's."

"Fuck him," I seethed, snatching a spoon from the drainer.

"As I understand it, that's the root of the problem," Lester mentioned.

And just like that, he broke the back of my anger. The laugh that burbled up in my throat was unexpected and halting. I collapsed against the counter beside him, ice cream and spoon hanging forgotten by my sides.

"I need to get my stuff and get out of here," I sighed when I'd regained my breath. "The more time I spend in this house, the more I want to leave him an unpleasant surprise for later."

"Like shitting on his pillow?" he suggested, grinning like it was a brilliant plan that in no way required faecal matter. I knew I should have kept my mouth shut about my payback urges. Lester was very good at persuading people to follow their less socially acceptable urges. It was part of what made him such a ladies man. There was a certain charm about him that people – women especially, and I'm ashamed to say that for all my exposure I had not yet built up an immunity to it – just can't seem to resist.

I tried though.

"Not exactly a task I would relish," I said, extracting a large scoop of Chunky Monkey and shoving into my mouth.

His grin grew. "I'd be happy to do it for you," he insisted.

"I was thinking something a little more subtle," I said, inserting another spoonful of ice cream into my gob. "Lula told me once about this woman that caught her husband cheating so he demanded a divorce. Problem was, he ended up getting the house in the settlement. What she did was fill all the curtain rods with prawns. The husband couldn't figure out where the smell was coming from or how to get rid of it, so he sold the house to his ex-wife for a fraction of what it was worth."

"That's evil," Lester breathed, eyes wide in awe. "I love it! Can we do that? Please?"

I shook my head. "I don't have any prawns."

"I'll call Bobby and get him to bring some over," he suggested and there was no point in trying to stop him, because he was already dialling. I mean, I'm sure I _could_ have stopped him. If I wanted. But I really didn't. If anything, his enthusiastic pursuit of my revenge put a little extra bounce back in my step as I dumped the rest of the ice cream on the table and made my way back upstairs to finish packing.

Morelli was an ass. I don't know how he managed to fool me into thinking otherwise, but he did and it wasn't going to happen again. It think the memory of laughing and dancing with Bobby and Lester as we shoved prawns into all of Morelli's curtain rods would serve as a strong reminder if I ever decided to contemplate his potential for boyfriend status again.

Plus I made Bobby and Lester promise they'd never let me be that unhappy with a man again.

 ** _I spent the day reading over the almost 13 chapters I have written so far of this story, and then the notes I actually managed to save in a convenient location and I am so excited for when I get to some of those plot points. Hopefully you're all still with me when we get there._**


	3. Chapter 3

_It was my first day back at work today after the Christmas break, and while I am writing ten chapters ahead of where I'm posting, my goal is to keep that ten chapter lead, so my posting may slow down a bit._

 **Chapter 3**

After transferring all my stuff from Lester's SUV to Tank's granny flat to be sorted through later, we washed the lingering smell of crustaceans from our hands and made our way across town to Shorty's for lunch. The guys were determined to make me forget about my immediate problems and apparently the best way to do that was through consumption of pizza. I wasn't complaining. In fact, I was starving. But I wasn't entirely sure about being out and about with the news of my break up and Joe's infidelity so fresh on the gossip mill. I knew how unrelenting the people of the Burg could be and I had not yet had the time to work out how I felt about Joe's actions, so there was no way I'd be able to answer any questions that may be posed to me at a moment's notice.

"That's why we're going to Shorty's," Bobby explained. "No self-respecting Burg dweller would be caught dead in a shit hole like that."

I gave him a peculiar look. I knew exactly how much of a shit hold Shorty's was. It looked barely legal; one stray rat away from being shut down by the health department. But I also knew how deceiving the façade was and how much the Merry Men adored the place. It was like their home away from home. They were in tight with the owner and quick to defend the restaurant should anyone say a single word against it. That he was now calling it a shit hole himself caught me off guard.

"It's not a shit hole," I reminded him, because looks could be deceiving. Shorty _liked_ the fact that it appeared, at first glance, to be a death trap. It meant he didn't have to put up with the riff raff and snobs. He liked to keep things casual and intimate. Shorty's was a place for regulars and their friends. The busier it got, the more agitated he got, with the exception of when all the guys descended on him. Friday pizza nights were frequent, loud, and raucous, discouraging other patrons from sticking around too long.

After one of my first exposures to the Merry Men out of their stuffy work shells, a night that found me passed around the dance floor and saw the men taking loud bets on how close they could get their hands to my ass before Ranger swooped in whisked me away (the answer, in case you're wondering, is ten inches), I'd asked Ranger why they favoured the place so much. In a rare moment of wordiness – possibly fuelled by more wine than I had previously seen him consume – he had spun a tale about a young soldier who's life had be tragically and needlessly lost when the government was withholding vital information. Ranger and the Core Team had been sent in to assist the original mission when it had turned to shit and absolutely resented the unnecessary loss of life. Upon returning state side, they'd sought out the boy's father, a humble restaurant owner and pizza connoisseur to explain how brave his son had been in his final moments and to return a valuable possession. A possession the government had ordered they either destroy or leave behind.

Bobby glanced away from the road long enough to send me a knowing grin before returning his concentration. "I know this," he pointed. "And you know this. But the Burg does not. And that's the way we like it."

"Shorty's is a Gossip Free Zone," Lester added from the back seat, leaning forward so that his head was between us. "We'll put up a sign if necessary."

I smiled gratefully at their thoughtfulness as we pulled into the dirt lot at the back of the building that served as the car park of Shorty's, right next to a familiar, low slung, black Porsche. My heart skipped a beat at the sight. It had been a scant twenty-four hours since I'd seen him last and it already felt like an eternity. My world had been tipped completely upside down since he'd left me settling in to Tank's granny flat. And it had already been in turmoil then.

I loved Morelli. Emphasis on the past tense now. There was no way I could forgive him for this latest act of infidelity. Not when I thought we'd finally discovered how to become functioning, mature adults together. We'd committed ourselves to a shared future and then he'd pissed all over it. If I never saw him again it'd be too soon.

And the worst part was he'd given me his blessing to go back to Ranger. Like he was doing the right thing. Like it was a favour. Like I needed his permission. I recalled his insistent babbling the day before and, in retrospect realised that no self-respecting man would say the sorts of things he'd told me about my relationship with another guy. Now that I knew the whole truth, I could see the guilt layering his words. He realised what he'd done was wrong – probably with the help of Eddie and Carl – and was trying to make up for his despicable actions by allowing me the freedom to date whomever I chose, even if it was his sworn enemy. He was trying to make himself feel better.

I didn't know how to face Ranger knowing what I now knew. I didn't know if I could move forward in a relationship with him with Morelli's cheating words hanging over our heads. I didn't know what my life had become. For the first time in ages, I was apprehensive about seeing Ranger.

"You okay in there, Beautiful?" Lester asked from right beside me, his hand raising to lightly knock on my forehead.

"Just thinking," I confessed honestly.

"Well don't think too hard," he replied, stepping back out of the open car door so that I had room to exit the vehicle. "Rangeman insurance only stands to cover a certain number of Bomber related car deaths a month and I think we've already hit our quota."

I cut my narrowed eyes to him to let him know how much I did not appreciate the reminder of how disastrous my presence was toward transportation machinery. "I haven't even blown up any fleet vehicles this month," I reminded him.

"No," he agreed, that mischievous grin blooming on his face so that I was laughing almost before he said anything. "But you _did_ put the permanent stench of dog food and pastrami in RF 12, which is almost the same thing. Ella's steamed the interior six times and it still won't come out."

"That's not my fault," I reminded him, slipping out of the front seat and tucking a wayward curl behind my ear so that it could spring out again the moment I turned my head. "I _insisted_ on taking my own car, but _Hank_ wasn't having a bar of it. He said he refused to let me drive the death trap a moment longer than necessary. I think he would have bombed it himself just to convince me to get in the SUV."

"We've all thought about destroying your shit boxes," Bobby announced, arriving at our side as we made our way around the front of the building. "But then we remember than just because one shit box is gone, doesn't mean you'll just accept us buying you a proper car. Even if we _were_ planning on dipping into the kitty accumulated from betting on the life span of your cars."

"How thoughtful," I said with a roll of my eyes as we pushed through the front door into the dimly lit restaurant. The smell of grease and cheese and Italian sausage hit me like a battering ram and just for a moment I felt my worries and fears melting away, smoothing the crease in my forehead and seeping into my very soul.

I waved hello to Shorty as we passed the bar and he slid a cold beer in my direction across the counter. "We heard," he said simply. "Anyone comes around asking questions or talking shit, they'll be kicked out on their asses." And then he gestured to a sheet of copy paper that had been taped to the front of the cash register. I read the all caps, black Sharpie words scrawled across it

 _All gossip will be met with unmitigated violence at the discretion of the owner._

My gaze strayed to Lester accusingly, but all he did was tap the side of his nose. I guess he was just trying to provide me with a safe haven. Something I was pretty sure I'd be grateful for once I finally stepped back out into the world. I wasn't looking forward to facing the Burg at all. This was the biggest thing that had happened to me since the demise of my marriage to the Dick, and I was including the time I managed to turn a row of parked cars into flaming pancakes. I wouldn't be able to walk down the street without people whispering to each other and giving me sympathetic glances. Not to mention all the busy bodies who would no doubt want to let me know how tragic the incident was while subtly angling for more details. The people in the neighbourhood were crazy. Nothing was sacred.

"Thanks," I said to Shorty, accepting the beverage and continuing on to the table in the back corner that was permanently reserved for Rangeman. I could see Ranger there already, seated with his back to the wall as usual and sipping a glass of iced tea.

"Babe," he said, he tone apologetic as I slid in beside him.

"I'm fine," I replied. "Just need to avoid the burg for a while until this blows over some."

"You should come back and work at Rangeman," Bobby suggested, slipping into the booth opposite us with a pitcher of beer and two glasses, Lester following close behind with four tumblers and a jug of ice water.

"That's a fantastic idea," Lester agreed. "No one from the Burg can get to you there, plus, I know the rest of the guys would be stoked to have the extra time to spend actually stalking the streets rather than sitting at their computers fumbling through background searches and credit card statements to find a clue."

I narrowed my eyes at the man. "You mean you want me to do their work for them?" My tone left no question as to how I felt about that particular suggestion. Ranger snorted.

"It's not like that, Beautiful," he moaned, leaning his elbows on the table as Bobby poured them both a beer. "A lot of the guys aren't very good at it. We don't all have a great educational background. Hell, half our employees have only ever earned degrees at the school of hard knocks. They're more adept at beating people to a pulp than they are at typing in relevant search terms. When you're running the searches we're a million percent more efficient."

"A million percent isn't possible," Bobby pointed out.

"Hush," Lester replied, pressing an index finger to the other man's lips. "I'm making a point."

Deciding to ignore the guys as they bickered over mathematical inaccuracies like a pair of old married scientists, I turned to Ranger with an attempted raised eyebrow. He lifted his drink to his lips, slowly taking a sip as he considered my unspoken question, before lowering it and giving me a slight nod. "The company is generally more productive when you're working in the building. Between the load your bear in the paperwork department, your gut instincts and the fact that I don't need to send a team out to rescue you from car bombings every three days, you presence in the building is an asset."

That was a lot of words for Ranger, and it took me a moment to process. I'd learned from past experience that he only used more words when he felt the need to let me know how sincere he was. "Can I still do skip tracing?" I asked.

"Babe," he replied, a hint of a smile in his eyes. I took that mean that we weren't negotiating career options right now, that he was merely offering me a convenient place to hide out until the heat of my break up died down a little, and if it happened to earn me a little extra money than I would normally have coming into my bank account then all the better. Ranger had always been supportive of my right to choose and follow my dreams, so I don't know why I thought that being on his books would mean giving up the action and adventure of the field.

"Awesome," I said by way of a thank you, just as my stomach growled. "Now let's eat."

Ranger raised a hand to the waitress lingering nearby, who disappeared into the kitchen for only a moment before returning with The Usual: a large pizza with the works for me, Bobby and Lester to share, a way-too-green salad for Ranger and a loaf of garlic bread to supplement the guys. They must have been getting the order ready from the moment Ranger pulled up outside. Shorty's was good like that.

 _ **Thank you for all the enthusiastic reviews. I'm always so excited when I start sharing a new project because while I think it's awesome, I'm never quite sure how you all are going to take it.**_


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm posting this from my iPad (which is highly unusual) because my laptop has suddenly decided to not work. *insert stricken expression here*. I have access to MOST of the story I've written so far, between emailing it to myself last night and hand writing during the day today. Fingers crossed my Dad can get it working again and I haven't lost the end of chapter 14..._

 **Chapter 4**

After lunch I returned to my temporary dwellings to start unpacking the things I would need most over the coming days, or weeks, however long it would take to find a place of my own. Ranger offered to help me, but there wasn't really a lot to help with and he was called away just as were making our way back out to our cars anyway. Lester and Bobby dropped me back at Tank's place on their way back to the office.

I was alone. And in that sudden lack of people surrounding me, I discovered that I was tired. The whole time at Shorty's I'd been mulling over everything that had happened and wondering how it was that I hadn't seen the signs? Sure, Morelli and I had never had a perfect relationship, but shouldn't I have noticed that he was getting his jollies elsewhere? Shouldn't I have had some kind of instinctual gut feeling when he was cheating on me? Probably not, but it still didn't stop me from thinking that I should have known. I should have expected it.

It _did_ appear to be my pattern. Dickie had cheated on me with Joyce before our first wedding anniversary. Probably, he'd been cheating on me all through the engagement as well, I just never knew about it. At least I'd found out about Morelli's infidelity before tying the knot this time, right? I wouldn't have to go through the painful process of divorcing him. I could just take my stuff and leave and never worry about him ever again.

Yeah, right.

In a perfect world, maybe. Where people mind their own business and absolutely do not talk about people behind their backs and ask probing questions when they see you in line at the butchers. Not that I ever have a reason to be in line at the butchers. If I'm at the butchers I'm either there chasing a lead or I'm getting meat for my mother, but usually she sends Dad for that. The Burg was _not_ a perfect world. The moment I showed my face anywhere near the neighbourhood where I grew up, all eyes would be on me and all mouths would be whispering behind hands. Like covering their mouths didn't make it more obvious that they were talking about me.

After digging out my toiletries and setting them along the top edge of the glass shower screen, I returned to the main room of the granny flat and looked around. There was nothing wrong with the accommodation, it was just the right size for me and Rex, but there was something about living in a hut in the corner of someone else's property at thirty three years of age that made me feel like a complete failure at life. Like I'd hit rock bottom. Again. Except this time I didn't even have my very own hand-me-down furniture to content myself with.

With these miserable thoughts running through my head, I collapsed on the bed in my thinking position. My life was in tattered shreds. Again. The whole town was talking about my love life. Again. Just when I thought I was getting the hang of things, that things were calming down and working themselves into something of a routine, Joseph Anthony Morelli is there to fuck things up again. Literally. He did it when we were teenagers. He did it when I first started bounty hunting. And he's done it again now. My inability to resist him coupled with his inability to keep his dick in his pants and we were set on a disaster course from the moment our eyes met. I should have known better than to think I could have a happy ending with the man who had caused so many unhappy ones over the years.

My phone started ringing, which was odd, because I didn't remember turning it on after my decision to avoid the burg, but there it was. Ringing obnoxiously from across the one room apartment. I bet it was my mother, calling to say how disappointed she was in me for ending my relationship with Morelli. My one chance at a normal future.

I scoffed. She never could see what was going on in my life clearly. It was like she had a vision impairment that only applied to me and my life. Everything was always all roses, even when it wasn't.

 _Sorry, Mom_ , I thought, dragging a pillow over my head. _Not in the mood._

After a minute or so, the phone stopped ringing, only to start ringing again. I should have known that would happen. Mom has never been known to give up after one call.

Hefting myself into an upright position, I trudged over to the table where I'd left my purse and dug the offending device from its depths. My instinct was to simply turn it off without even looking at the read out, but habit saw me checking it anyway. And freezing in my tracks.

 _Joe Morellie Calling…._

Against by better judgement, I found myself hitting receive and holding the phone to my ear. I didn't bother to say anything. I didn't breathe at all. If he had something to say he could just say it and be done with it.

"Steph?" he said uncertainly and when I didn't reply after a few moments tried again. "Cupcake? Are you there?"

My silent status was broken at the sound of his pet name for me. I'd never been particularly fond of it when we were together; it reminded me too much of the loss of my virginity and the fact that he never called me afterwards. But now that we had so much more history, and a fair chunk of it less than pleasant, I was inclined to rip his tongue out and force it down his throat if he ever called me that again.

I told him as much in the calmest tone I could muster, because I'd learned from hanging around Ranger and the Merry Men that threats were scarier when enunciated clearly and concisely than if they were screamed at the top of your lungs. There was something about the uncertainty of not knowing exactly how pissed a person was from just looking and listening that sent bolts of terror down your spine. I'd seen gang members wet their pants from a well worded, and whispered threat.

"Steph, I'm so sorry," he moaned after an audible gulp came down the line. "I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I _wasn't_ thinking. I was just… You have to understand that she was very persuasive. There was no way she was going to let me –"

"So you just did it. Did her. You thought, well, this chick is gonna bust my balls if I don't, so I may as well. Good plan, Joe. I'm sure your Grandma is _so proud_." The sarcasm was practically dripping off every word that left my mouth. I was in no mood to listen to his excuses or his rat shit attempts at apologies. He was a coward and I was done with him. For good. "Eddie and Carl caught you," I pointed out. "They told you to come clean. They were quite persuasive themselves, I've been told, but you're too chicken shit to show me the smallest respect. I had to find out from my Best Friend, who heard it from some busy body old biddies down at the hairdresser, who heard it from god knows where. I bet the whole town knew before I did. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they all knew before you broke up with me yesterday. Was that your way of trying to make things right? Trying to make the adultery hurt a little less? Well guess what, genius, it backfired."

And with an aching sob building in my chest, threatening to break loose and undermine the outright rage I was throwing at my ex-fiancé, I hung up. I turned the phone off and threw it at the couch where I hoped it would be eaten by whatever monster likes to eat spare change and never be seen again.

The second it landed with a thud, I stormed through the flat to the bathroom, reefing my clothes off as I went and leaving them exactly where they dropped from my hands. Tears were streaming down my cheeks as I roughly thrust the single tap of the shower on and around, thrusting my head under the gushing water the moment it presented itself, uncaring of what temperature I was now being subjected to. I stood there, hunched over, half in the shower long enough for my hair to be soaked and my arms to be trembling where they were braced against the wall to keep me up, then I stepped in fully. Sinking to my knees under the spray. Surrendering myself to the sobs that broke from my chest and kept me from breathing.

I tipped my head back briefly, keeping my eyes wide open so that the droplets stung my eyes as they fell. The water was freezing, which didn't help the oxygen situation, but I didn't care. As long as I was in the shower, covered in water running in rivulets over every part of my body, I could pretend that there weren't tears seeping from my eyes over a man I should have known better than to offer my heart to.

I don't know how long I stayed in the shower, how long I sat there shivering, and sobbing and hiccupping and feeling sorry for myself. I know that at one stage, when I realised my fingers had pruned, I reached up and turned the water off, but didn't bother to move. Realistically, it was entirely possible that I was frozen in place. Eventually my breathing evened out and I managed to unstick my arms from my legs where they had been hugging for what felt like days. I was just thinking about reaching for a towel when there was a knock on the door.

Great. Just what I needed. Visitors. People to witness my complete and utter state of turmoil.

The number of people that were likely to be knocking on the door to Tank's granny flat were extremely limited. Just Ranger, Lester, Bobby, or the big man himself. But that didn't mean I was any more eager to answer the call. They'd all seen me in some pretty horrendous conditions, including covered in tar and feathers at one stage, but facing them after a three millennia crying jag was not anywhere near my list of priorities right now.

I just wanted to go to sleep and hope that when I wake up, none of this ever happened.

Pulling myself to my feet and assessing myself carefully, I found that I was mostly dry aside from the water still dripping steadily from my ponytail (guess I'd been sitting there longer than I thought). I decided to forgo the towel, opting instead for the fluffy white robe that hung on the back of the bathroom door. I had slipped into it, tied the belt at the waist and was trying to delicately extract the hair tie from my drenched mop without giving myself a bald patch when the knock came again.

"Steph?" It was Tank. "I know you're in there. I checked the security footage and you haven't left since Bobby and Lester dropped you off after lunch."

Figuring he would just use his own key to open the door if I continued to ignore him, I sighed heavily, cut the elastic band so it would just slip out with minimal hair tearing, and ignored the red blotchiness of my face as I went to see what he wanted.

"Yeah?" I asked, thrusting the door open wide so that he could take in the full effect of my melt down.

"Hey, Bomber, Ranger got Ella to put together a- sorry, I didn't realise you were in the sh- have you been crying?" His half sentences narrated the speed – or apparent lack thereof – with which he took in my appearance. The man who could tell me how many people in a room were wearing hats with barely a glance was practically sloth-like by comparison when it came to noticing the red rim around my eyes.

Rubbing slightly at the traitorous crimson stain, and wishing not for the first time in my life that I could have been one of those pretty criers like the popular girls you see in teen movies, I responded with the first lie that came to mind. "I got shampoo in my eyes," I shrugged, flicking a curl out of the way as if to demonstrate my disdain. "Sometimes I miss the no more tears stuff they have in the kids section, but it does nothing to tame my white girl afro."

The expression on Tank's face told me that he didn't believe me for a minute, at least about the part where I got shampoo in my eyes just now. There was no way of knowing what he thought about adults using kids shampoo, or whether he understood the effects that using the wrong shampoo and conditioner could have on a woman's hair.

My gaze dropped from his to the covered dish he held in his hands. "Is that what Ranger got Ella to put together?" I asked, trying to distract him from my face.

"Uh, yeah," he confirmed, stepping through the doorway and forcing me to back up a few steps so he could pass me and set it on the small kitchen counter. He went about uncovering the dish and grabbing out plates and cutlery. It wasn't until he was cutting into the casserole that my brain caught up with his actions.

"What are you doing?" I asked leaving the door gaping wide to stand beside him and stare as he plonked a normal sized portion on one plate and a gargantuan portion on the other. "I mean, I know what you're doing, but…"

Tank stuck the first plate into the microwave, hit a few buttons then turned to face me, arms crossed over his chest, accentuating just how large his muscles were. "Look," he said in a no nonsense tone. "You've obviously been crying, but quite clearly do not want to admit it or talk about it. I get that. Your fiancé just committed the ultimate act of infidelity. You probably don't want company. You probably don't want to eat. You're probably wishing you hadn't opened the door to me just now. But you need to eat. That's why Ella made this casserole especially." He let that sink in for a moment as he removed one plate from the microwave and inserted the other, giving it the same treatment.

"Sure," I agreed. "I probably would have eaten eventually."

To my shock, Tank rolled his eyes as he thrust the first plate onto the little dining table and started recovering the rest of the dish. "Yeah, sure," he said sarcastically. "Eventually. And it probably would have been a pint of Ben and Jerry's or a peanut butter sandwich. You need real food, Steph. Your body needs to be strong and healthy so that you mind can focus on building a tomb for all the memories of you and the cop."

It was my turn to cross my arms over my chest as he slid the dish into the small refrigerator and transferred the two sets of cutlery to the table along with the two beers he'd retrieved while putting the casserole away. "Fine," I acquiesced. "I'll eat now. And I'll eat the food Ella sent. But why are there two plates being warmed?"

Tank just shrugged. "I'm hungry," he said. "It's been a long day at the office. I didn't get a chance to step away for a luxurious lunch with my grieving friend and, believe it or not, I'm a terrible cook."

"Pull the other leg," I said, slumping into a chair and forking a mouthful of the delicious food into my mouth.

"I'm serious," Tank said. And I knew he was, because he used _that tone_. The one he used to force people to spar with him when he was pissed off. No one wanted to mess with _that tone_ , but after a second, he sat at the table across from me with his own slab of casserole and informed me. "So I'm eating this delicious meal Ella cooked and Ranger asked me to drop off to you and you're not going to say a word, because I'm not going to mention the fact that you were crying."

"Because you hate dealing with tears," I pointed out.

"Exactly," Tank confirmed.

I took another bite, savouring it this time and letting out small moan. Not talking about my out of control emotions worked just fine for me right now, especially since last time Tank caught me crying he thought the best way to deal with how distraught I was, was to stick me in the ring with Lester and hope that being able to beat the crap out of someone even if it wasn't the person I was angry would be helpful. Which it was, but Lester didn't appreciate it. Food and avoiding the topic was definitely a safer option.

 ** _It might be a couple days before the next update._**


	5. Chapter 5

_Good news! Between Google and my Dad's patience we managed to get my laptop back up and running about an hour after I posted the last chapter. And even more good news! I proved to be extra productive today after work and managed to write a chapter. I didn't think that was going to happen, but apparently waking up from a nap and learning a rap from Hamilton awakens my muse?_

 **Chapter 5**

The Rangeman building became something of a safe haven. I found a routine and I stuck to it. Arrive early. Running searches in the morning. An hour in the gym with whoever was available before lunch working on my overall fitness and self-defence skills – apparently it's mandated in my contract. Lunch in the break room provided, as always, by Ella. More searches or the possibility of riding along with one of the guys if they needed assistance with a skip after lunch. Half an hour in the gun range before the end of the day. Leave late. Then home to Tank's Granny Flat for dinner comprised of left overs or peanut butter and olives, depending on what was in the fridge.

I worked six days a week, much to the displeasure of pretty much everyone: Ranger, the guys, my parents, Lula, Mary Lou. Probably, the guy on the street corner who wiped windscreens for a living had an opinion on how much I was working, but for once in my life, I just didn't care. I was doing this for me. I needed the distraction. And being in amongst the guys again made me happy. I'd been absent too long. In just two days we'd rekindled the kind of camaraderie we'd had when I was last time I was working at Rangeman full time. Seeing them every other week for lunch was fine, but spending all day every day with the group of men that understood me and wanted only for me to be happy and achieve me goals, was amazing.

Five weeks passed with hardly a twitch out of routine. I refused to set foot in Burg territory for fear of the rumour mill catching up to me. I'd spoken to my mother on three occasions to assure her I was okay and that, no, there was absolutely no chance of me getting back together with Morelli this time. I wasn't even willing to do the morning trip to Vincent Plum Bail Bonds because it was too close to the Burg. My whole world now consisted of Tank's Granny flat, the Rangeman building and Shorty's once a week.

I could tell that the guys were worried about me, but they were happy to pretend it was fine for now. I'm sure they'd push me to get back out in the world properly eventually, but for now, my world was my world and they were happy to be in it.

I was in the gym sparring with Hal and looking forward to a day that ended with the invitation of dinner on the seventh floor with Ranger when the original man in black himself walked through the door. My focus was pulled immediately, allowing Hal to get in a final levelling blow, sending me sprawling across the mats.

"Babe," Ranger said as he approached, a slight smile on his face. "You've gotta pay attention to what you're doing."

"You always say I need to be aware of my surroundings," I countered, attempting to sit up. "I was being aware of my surroundings."

I was finally sitting upright and had started unstrapping my hands, when Ranger reached the edge of the mats. "If you were aware of your surroundings Hal wouldn't have been able to sneak up on you like that," he pointed out, just as a hand landed on my shoulder and pulled me back down onto the mats.

A frustrated growl left my throat as I glared up at Hal. He just shrugged and wandered off. Ranger was laughing. I lifted my head to train my glare on him. "Are you here for a reason other than proving how futile these sessions are?" I asked on a huff as I let my head drop back down to the slightly spongey ground.

He was on the mats with me in a moment, his hand extended to help me up. I accepted it, but tried to maintain my glare; an impossibility when he pulled me straight up against his chest. No woman can be mad with all that muscle pressed against them. "Actually, yes," he said by my ear, punctuating his reply with a nip at my ear. "I came to let you know that I received a call from my Government Handler just now."

I groaned, but I wasn't entirely sure if it was from the pleasure of his touch or the realisation of what would come next. "How long do you have?" I asked as his lips trailed down my throat, sending my eyes rolling back in my head.

"Not long enough," he said apologetically, between open mouthed kisses.

"So dinner?" I managed to gasp as his tongue darted out to taste the hollow of my neck. I already knew how this conversation would end. Generally speaking, whenever he got a call to go do the government's bidding, he was gone within a couple of hours and didn't return for days, weeks, months. It was always uncertain and frustrating. And the fact that I'd never really had any claim on him to warrant worrying about him every second of the day didn't help matters. To cut a long story short, there would be no dinner on seven tonight.

"Raincheck?" he requested, lips now ghosting along the edge of my exposed sports bra, his fingers having surreptitiously dragged the neck of my shirt down to reveal the undergarment. I could barely breath, barely think he had me in such a state, I wanted to just lie back on the mat and let him do with me what he will, but I knew that wasn't the correct response. He was leaving. He didn't have time for a roll in the metaphorical hay. He probably had business to attend to. Coming to see me was a courtesy. A time consuming one. Especially when I couldn't find my voice to agree to his offer.

"Babe," Ranger groaned, stepping back, retracting his hands and mouth from my body. I felt utterly bereft, my body crying out for him to return to me and finish the tantalising torture he'd begun. "I really do have to go," he said, when my eyes slitted open to glare at him.

"I'll be fine," I assured him on a sigh, straightening my clothes and tightening my ponytail.

"I know you will be," he agreed. "You always are." There was a moment of silence while he stared deep into my eyes and I tried desperately to find something to say to convince him I'd be fine until he returned. I was all too aware of his thoughts on me sequestering myself away in the building, if it wasn't for my physical safety he was opposed to it. He seemed to think that by hiding away I was giving the gossip mongers more control over me than they deserved. "If you need anything," he eventually uttered, moving closer once more. Probably, his internal clock was raising the alarm that he only had a few moments left here.

"Talk to Tank," I finished for him. "I know. And conveniently, he only lives about twenty feet from me now, too. I dare the crazy stalkers to invade my home with that mountain of a man sleeping lightly a stone's throw away."

"Babe," Ranger said again, gathering me up in his arms. "You should know not to talk about Tank like that by now. He's shy about his size."

"Not too shy to throw it around, though," I countered, thinking of the last time I'd taken the second in charge on a bounty hunting adventure. The guy had tried to run out the back door (a common occurrence) and had subsequently ended up with a couple of broken ribs when he was thrown to the ground by a tired and grumpy Tank.

He didn't dignify that with a response. We both knew I was right. Plus, both our mouths were occupied, fighting for control. Losing. While I gasped for air, Ranger's teeth nipped at my bottom lip. I was seconds away from finding that magic fob in his pocket and scrambling the security cameras so we could have some privacy for when I found his _other_ magic fob. And then hid it again. But his phone chirped on his belt, ending our embrace abruptly.

"Don't go crazy," he said with one last press of his lips against mine.

"Don't get shot," I replied to his retreating back.

 _ **I'm loving your continued responses to this story, especially those who like to tell me their favourite lines. It really makes me smile.**_


	6. Chapter 6

_Yesterday I went to the beach for the first time in six years and while I managed to do far better than every other time I go outside for any period of time in keeping my upper body un-sunburnt, the karma seems to have shifted to my lower body, because my legs are now beet red. Yay me. As much as the day was fun, I think I'll stick to writing for a while, it seems to be a lot safer._

 **Chapter 6**

"I'm a little in over my head," I admitted on a sigh, sinking into the visitor's chair in Tank's office. It had been three weeks since Ranger had been called away. Just over two months since Joe and I ended out relationship for good. That's more than eight weeks now that I'd barely stepped foot outside of the Rangeman building. I was working close to twelve hours a day and would have happily been doing more than that if it weren't for the guys putting their collective foot down. If I was still in the office at eight in the evening one of them was tasked with hauling me all the way down to the parking garage and shoving me into my car to go home.

Usually it was Lester.

"What do you mean?" Tank responded, not looking up from his computer. Tis wasn't the first semi heart-to-heart we'd had recently. After that first night when he'd brought me the food Ella had made and invited himself to share it we'd spent a few more meals together in his granny flat awkwardly skirting around topics that would cause emotion and even more awkwardly playing truth or dare (Interestingly, he almost always picked dare). I was now a lot more familiar with the bi guy and infinitely more comfortable about approaching him with my non-emotional problems. Although he'd always been the one Ranger directed me to when he couldn't be there for me himself, it always felt like an obligation before. Now, though we were on a friendlier playing field.

"I mean I've been couped up here for several weeks now, and I know it's my own doing, but-"

Tank snorted. "You don't need to remind me, Steph," he said, shaking his head slightly as he allowed his hands to fall away from the keyboard. "You're self-imposed isolation has everyone in awe. Just this morning I had Hank in here complaining that you're more committed to this almost lock down than the time the Mafia put a price on you head."

"This isn't a lock down," I pointed out.

"Maybe not," he agreed, "But you have to admit, you haven't spend this much time in the building since Ranger disabled your key fob to keep you from leaving during the assassination attempts three years ago."

He had a point. Never before had I voluntarily logged so many hours at Haywood. Not even when my I was living on the seventh floor, or when my life was threatened. And that was the heart of my current problem. I'd avoided the real world for fifty eight days now. My entire existence currently boiled down to a large building filled with large men, and a small building filled with boxes of my stuff I was reluctant to unpack. I hadn't even accompanied the guys on any FTA work in weeks.

"I'm starting to go a little stir crazy," I said on another sigh. "I need to get out and do something, but… I don't… it's…"

Tank narrowed his eyes, leaning both elbows on his desk as he scrutinized me. "Stephanie Plum," he said slowly, seeming to carefully calculate each syllable before it exited his lips. "Are you trying to tell me you don't know how to re-enter the real world?"

I gulped, trying to avoid his gaze and failing. All Rangeman employees must have to do a course in hypnosis or something. It was the only explanation for how they could al keep me staring into their eyes long enough to blur out all the things they probably already knew from extensive background research and an inherent ability to read minds.

"I haven't even seen my family in two months," I said.

Tank shrugged and returned his attention to the computer, typing for a full minute before he said anything. "So start there. I know you have a standing invitation to Friday night dinner."

Now it was my turn to snort. Starting the process of reintegrating myself into society with a night spent under my mother's critical eye was not exactly what I was looking for. I'd rather go diving with sharks. Without a cage. I told Tank as much, prompting a loud bark of laughter to burst from his chest. Probably, he and all the guys felt the same way about my mother. And let's not even mention my Grandma.

"Good point," he conceded. "Especially considering you haven't spoken to her at all since the break up. You'd have to spend the whole night explaining why you're never getting back together with the cop. Not the best way to ease back into things."

"Exactly," I agreed.

For several long minutes there was silence in the office but for the soft clack of the keys under Tank's fingers. A few months ago, I would have taken this lull in the conversation as a request that I leave so that he could get back to his much-more-important-than-my-petty-problems work, but now, having spent so many hours with him sitting in silence, I knew that this was just his default setting. In all likelihood, he was probably still thinking about my dilemma, even as he responded to emails and typed up reports. It was just how he worked.

I decided to practice some new found restraint and wait him out. Flipping open the cover of my company issued iPad, I started a few new search request that had been dropped into my virtual inbox while I was preoccupied.

The guys had always proclaimed that I was the queen of background searches. Between my apparent eye for detail and my spidey senses, I tended to pick up on things others overlooked. Technically, each person is supposed to do their own preliminary research and I was just there for when deeper digging was required, but given the rate at which my physical inbox filled and stayed filled when I was around, I'd guess I was being used as a scapegoat for those guys who abhorred paper work.

Normally, this would have frustrated the shit out of me. When I was bounty hunting, I had my own searches and field work to do on top of whatever got thrown on my desk. I didn't ever have enough time to complete it all. Now, though, spending twelve hours a day in the office and being on hiatus from field work, I had plenty of time to run through the files that ended up in my in tray. I'd worked out a system to get them done in record time, and as such, had been rewarded with _more work_. I'd casually mentioned to Tank having completed a full day's worth of searches before lunch one day and not knowing what to do while I waited for more. His solution had been to offer me up to the other branches of the company.

He set up a virtual inbox where employees from other states could drop their files when they were time poor or at a loss for leads. It was capped at ten cases at any given time and I was able to put a block on it if the Trenton workload (which was always my top priority) got more involved.

I was constantly getting emails from guys I'd never met thanking me for the work I'd done on their cases. Apparently, without my insights we would have lost the bonds of at least half a dozen FTAs in the last month alone.

Half an hour later, I was still waiting for Tank to say something. I'd completed one search and was just finalising two more when his hands once again fell away from the keyboard.

"Grocery shopping," he said, leaning back in his big leather chair, looking more exhausted than he had earlier. "Why don't you go to the actual store and buy your groceries in person instead of getting them delivered this week. It'll get you out in public again. It should only be a quick trip. Give people a chance to see you, know that you're still alive, grab some Tasty Kakes and peanut butter and leave."

"What if someone asks about me and Joe?" I asked, because I knew it was a possibility. People in the Burg were inherently incapable of keeping their noses out of other people's business.

Tank shrugged his massive shoulders. "Tell them it's none of their business," he suggested and, seeing that I was about to protest, added, "And when they pester you, just walk away."

I rolled my eyes. "Is this the part where you tell me to tell an adult I trust if I'm being bullied?"

My attempt at a joke fell flat, resulting in a hard stare from the big guy. "Stephanie, I'm serious," he said seriously. "If they ask you anything you don't want to answer, don't. It's the supermarket, not a court of law. If you keep catering to their every whim, you'll always be under the Burg's thumb. You have to show them that their opinion doesn't matter to you anymore."

"It never did," I muttered sourly, feeling very much like a scolded child.

Tank slammed his hand against the hard wood top of the desk. "Then why have you locked yourself away for two months?!" he demanded. "If the opinion of the Burg matters so little to you, why have you been hiding from it?"

We engaged in the most intense staring competition I'd ever experienced. All cold, glaring eyes and wafer thin lips. He was right. Of course he was right. If I didn't care what others thought of me I would never have gotten myself to this point in my life, asking a self-proclaimed introvert for advice on how to interact with the world outside these four walls. I'd let the gossipers get to me and now I was paying for it.

Eventually, just when I was starting to re-evaluate my entire existence, Tanks desk phone rang. He answered it without breaking eye contact, but after a moment of listening was typing one handed and speaking in rapid fire Spanish.

I took that as my cue to leave.

 _ **Thank you for your continued support of this story.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_Man, this week has been busy! But I finally got a chapter written between last night and this morning._

 **Chapter 7**

It was almost six o'clock and ordinarily I'd have put in another two hours at the computer before heading home, but in light of the recent revelations in Tank's office, I thought I needed to slow down and thing about some stuff. So instead of setting another search to going when I reached my cubicle, I shut down my computer, grabbed my handbag and made my way down to the parking garage where I was confronted by a rather unusual sight: Bobby and Lester, both out of uniform as they made their way toward the row of non-fleet vehicles parked at the back of the lot.

"Hey!" I called, speed walking through the rows of cars toward them (my fleet vehicle was over that way anyway, since I lacked the requisite parking karma to get a space close to the elevator).

"Hey Beautiful!" Lester greeted as they both spun to face me, identical grins on their faces. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," I replied, tucking an errant curl behind my ear. "Just heading home for the night."

With raised eyebrows, Lester glanced down at his watch. "Already?" he asked. "Don't you usually stay til eight?"

In contrast to Lester's surprised openness, Bobby's brow knitted together with concern. "Is everything all right?" he asked, taking a step forward.

"Fine," I assured him breezily. "Just need some down time is all. What are the two of you up to? Undercover investigation?"

Lester let out a little laugh. "Hardly," he explained. "We're catching a movie."

Bobby just nodded.

"That sounds great," I enthused. "Do you, uh, mind if I tag along? I kinda need to get out of this rut I've dug myself into."

The movies was a much better solution than the grocery store! It got me out of the house and the building and into the public eye, but at the same time had an inbuilt defence against probing questions: talking in the cinema was frowned upon.

Lester and Bobby exchanged a brief glance that seemed heavy with silent communication. Probably, they were mentally discussing how much I needed to get out and making all the same conclusions about the Burg and cinema laws that I had. My avoidance of the people who were likely to make my life a spectacle at the moment wasn't exactly a secret. And nor was the guys opinion on the matter.

"Sure. The more the merrier," Bobby finally said, though there was something in the way he looked at Lester that made me think he would beg to differ. I didn't have time to think too much on it, though, as Lester threaded his arm through mine and lead the way to an emerald green sports car.

"This is nice," I commented as Bobby opened the driver side door and pushed the seat forward to allow me access to the back seat. "I like the colour."

"Thanks," Bobby responded with a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "Green is my favourite."

"Really?"

It was astonishing that I'd been around these men for years but was only now learning basic information like favourite colours. I'd learned Lula's favourite colour (fluro) within a week of meeting her.

"Mine's purple," Lester confessed over his shoulder as he strapped in. "But I don't like to advertise it too much. It doesn't do much for the street cred, you know?"

"Of course," I agreed, miming turning a key in an imaginary lock on my lips. "My lips are sealed."

"Wish I could say the same for myself," Bobby commented with a meaningful glance at Lester.

"Your rain cloud is showing," Lester replied just as meaningfully.

Learning forward, I stuck my head between the seats. "Is everything okay, Bobby?" I asked. "You don't seem to be your usual self."

"I'm just tired," he assured me with another not quite convincing smile.

"Bobby turns into a grumpy old man when he doesn't get enough sleep," Lester added with a wink.

I wasn't convinced by Lester's explanation. I'd known Bobby several years now and had never once experienced the cold shoulder from him, but I had absolutely no doubt that what was happening right now was exactly that. Bobby didn't say a word on the way to the Cineplex. It could have been that he was in his driving zone, and I would have believed that, if it weren't for all the tension permeating the air. When we arrived at the complex, Lester got in line for tickets leaving Bobby and I to stand awkwardly in the lobby.

After a few minutes of silence with one of the guys I'd always felt comfortable with, I feigned needed the ladies room before the show just to get away from him. I had no idea what I'd done to get him this annoyed at me, but I was starting to think I was stepping on his toes or something.

When I returned, they were both standing where I'd left Bobby holding three drinks and large popcorn between them and having what appeared to be a serious conversation. I slowed my pace as I approached, not so that I could eavesdrop, but to give them time to finish before I interrupted. Obviously I'd already interrupted something by requesting to tag along, and I didn't want to do anything more to make Bobby hate me.

Lester laid a hand on the medic's forearm, which I thought was an odd place of contact. Usually if the guys were going to touch each other, either reassuringly or otherwise, it was on the shoulder.

"I'll make it up to you," I heard him say.

"You better," Bobby replied almost sourly.

"Is one of those for me?" I asked as I came within interruption distance, gesturing to the two drinks Lester was somehow cradling in one hand.

"Yep!" he agreed, shifting them so he had one in each hand. "Raspberry of Cola?"

"Which ever," I shrugged, figuring I was already imposing myself on them, I better not make myself too much of an inconvenience.

A sly grin crept across his face. "We could always share both," he suggested, eliciting a snort from myself – like I would want to swap saliva with the notorious ladies' man – and earning a sharp glare from the other man. Apparently whatever I was overstepping on, Lester was just as guilty.

Appropriately shot down, Lester passed me one of the drinks – the cola one, I noted with interest – and retrieved the tickets from his pocket. "Lead on MacDuff," he instructed Bobby. "Theatre number three."

"What are we seeing?" I asked curiously.

"Beauty and the Beast," Lester announced. Loud and proud.

I'd been focusing on navigating the steps without tripping, but my head snapped up at that. "Really?" I asked. "You didn't have to change it just for-"

"Relax," Lester laughed. "We were seeing Beauty and the Beast whether you were here or not."

"It's my favourite," Bobby grinned over his shoulder, and I was relieved to find that it was an actual smile. I couldn't help but return the grin, instantly feeling better. Maybe he didn't hate me after all.

The relief was short lived, however, as we entered the theatre, found our seats and Bobby pulled Lester down beside him. I wasn't a diva or anything, thinking that the world revolves around me, but generally, when I was out with more than one of the guys, they put me in the middle. It was part of their manly urge to protect me. Sitting on the outside of the group was a foreign experience for me.

Being that he was in the middle, Lester put the popcorn on his lap and made some lewd comments about being in a three way and elicit movie theatre goings-ons. I almost choked on my mouthful at the very mention of it, but Bobby appeared even less pleased by Lester's suggestive comments than he had been by my presence. I was definitely feeling like the third, very unwanted wheel.

Thankfully, the feature presentation started not long after and we were all engrossed in the majestic beauty that was Emma Watson singing a classic Disney song and filling the air with her posh British accent.

Sometime later, as the credits started to roll and the lights came up, I was surprised to find Bobby with teas clinging to his lower lashes.

"Umm…" I uttered, unsure of what exactly was going on and quite uncomfortable with the display of emotion. I didn't even like crying when I was the one doing it, let alone a grown man I'd come to think of as a rock. "Are you… um…"

"He's fine," Lester assured me, collecting our empty cups and stuffing them into the popcorn bucket. "He always cries when we watch Beauty and the Beast."

"Really?"

"It's just so beautiful," Bobby bemoaned. "She loves him even though he's all hairy and uncivilised. And he dies to protect her without ever hearing her say it because he loves her with all his heart no matter what!"

I didn't know how to respond to that. I'd never thought of Bobby, or any of the guys, really, as emotional or sensitive. Then again, if I thought about it, I could see how he would relate to the movie. A lot of the guys were convinced no woman could ever truly love them because of their pasts. Whenever someone looked at them they were convinced that all they saw was murder, no matter how often I reminded them that they were more than a sum of their past actions.

"We should go dancing," Bobby announced, standing and wrenching the garbage from Lester and my grasps. "Come on," he said. "I know a great place across town."

 ** _This is one of my favourite chapters so far. I hope you liked it too._**


	8. Chapter 8

_After many early morning trials in posting this chapter (accidentally postinf the wrong chapter then fixing my mistake only to find the formatting shot to buggery) I have carved out a few minutes from my day to try to fix it. This is what I get for attempting to post first thing in the morning!_

 **Chapter 8**

Movies and dancing with the guys had opened up the door I'd slammed shut up hearing that Morelli had cheated. Suddenly, the thought of being out among the people didn't seem so big a task. Tank's pep talk before I left the office had also helped. And so, first thing Monday morning I marched right into Tank's sanctum (I'm sure he was probably sick of seeing me by now) and requested some field work.

He'd looked at me over the top of his computer screen. Sceptically. Like he didn't think I could handle being out of the building.

"Please Tank?" I begged. "I've been training in the gym, and I'm sure you'd love to get me out of the building for a few hours so I'll quit annoying you while you're doing whatever it is you're doing."

Tank continued to stare at me while his fingers resumed tapping away at the computer keyboard. It was unnerving to think that he was apparently capable of typing without looking. I'd always envisioned him as a hunt and peck kind of guy. Then again, he did spend an awful lot of his time doing paperwork these days. Especially when Ranger was in the wind. And I may have been basing my assumption on how bad he was at texting.

A few tense moments went by before he finally stopped typing, only to avert his gaze to the screen once more as he used the mouse to click on a few things.

"So is that a no?" I asked when he'd folded his hands on the desk.

"No," he stated shortly.

"Then…?"

Tank raised an eyebrow at me, like I knew what that meant, and turned back to the computer. Again. I swear he enjoyed keeping me in suspense. Sometimes during our shared dinners in his granny flat, he would pause mid-sentence to leave the table and get himself a second helping, or reply to an email on his phone. Letting out a small groan as I realised this was one situation that I'd just have to wait out, I collapsed into the nearest visitor's chair.

"I hope you know I'm going to sit here and annoy you until you give me a real answer," I said.

"That's fine," he replied, glancing over and turning his screen so I could see. "All I'm doing is playing solitaire right now anyway."

And that's how I ended up sitting cross-legged on his desk directing him on where to move the virtual cards.

"Are you gonna let me out in the field?" I asked for what had to be the millionth time in the last hour.

He shrugged again, making an ill-advised move on the screen that brought about the end of the game. While the disappointing notification of failure flashed up, he switched windows so that we were both staring at his email inbox. In no time at all, he'd selected an unread email from the list, opening it to reveal an incredibly short message from Cal that was obviously a reply to an earlier question or request, because all it said was:

 _No worries._

Tank closed the window again before I could search out the question in the mass of text further down the page, leaning back in his chair and spearing me with a single raised eyebrow.

"What?" I demanded.

He nodded his head toward the computer, then tilted it toward the door that lead to the hall.

I rolled my eyes. "I suppose you think I know what that means?" I asked, exasperated.

"Cal's gonna be your partner today," Tank shrugged. "I can't assign you a permanent partner, since everyone I already paired off, but I can rotate everyone through. Hal is off sick today, so you're riding with Cal."

 _Now_ his head nods made sense: _Cal will be your partner today, so get out of my office._

Excited at the prospect of getting out of the building and expending some energy on something useful, I hopped off the desk, rubbed Tank's bald head affectionately and bounded out of the room. I hadn't been issued my own cases recently, since I'd confined myself to the office and home, but I knew for a fact that Hal and Cal had been taking the lower end skips. The ones that I usually got from Vinnie. I'd done a lot of the background searches for them and even added some notes that wouldn't come up in any search engine. Things I knew from being connected to the Burg my entire life.

"Oh," Tank said as I reached the door, effectively halting my progress. "Can you jog this down to Santos before you head out with Cal?" he asked, holding out an envelope. "It's his day off, but I think he'll want this information sooner rather than later."

Curious about what it was I was delivering, but aware that there were a lot of things I just didn't have the clearance for and that if I was allowed to know they would tell me if it was something I _needed_ to know, I took the envelope and bounced back out of the office.

I passed through the command floor on my way to the elevator with a grin the size of New York plastered on my face and paused at Cal's cubicle.

"Hey, partner," I greeted.

Cal looked up from the file in his hands, dropping his feet from the desk where they rested beside an empty Rangeman issued coffee mug. "Hey, Bomber," he replied, matching my smile. "Thanks for saving me from a day of paperwork. I hate it when Hal gets one of his migraines. I've been trying to switch partners for years."

"Tanks says everyone else is already partnered," I said, recalling his reasoning for my day-to-day partner situation.

"Except you," Cal pointed out. "Thank goodness. Rangeman should _always_ have a swing." Holding out the file he added, "Shall we get started?"

"When I get back," I said, gesturing with the envelope Tank had given me. "I just have to run a little errand down to the fourth floor."

"No worries," Cal agreed, swinging his feet back up on the desk. It must be his standard affirmative answer.

Buzzing with energy derived from my excitement, I decided to forgo the elevator and take the stairs. It's only one level and I've spent so much time in the gym lately that I could probably jog up three levels without getting s stitch, so one level down shouldn't be a problem. On the living floor, I made my way to the far end of the hall where I knew Lester's apartment was. I spent five minutes knocking and calling out as softly as I could manage, conscious of the men sleeping off a night shift, before Hal poked his head out two doors down, staring at me through squinting eyes. Clearly the light from the hall was hurting him.

"Lester went down to see Bobby about twenty minutes ago," Hal whispered, grimacing, probably at the volume of his own voice in his head. "I heard him talking on the phone as he left."

"Oh, thanks," I said as he started to disappear back into his apartment. "Feel better," I called softly.

One more floor down in the stairwell and I arrived in a part of the building that I was all too familiar with. The amount of times I'd ended up here after a long day of falling over an almost being blown up was beyond what I was willing or able to count (especially considering the amount of possible concussions I'd had) but at least it wasn't the hospital. I'd spent so much time down here getting stitched up and checked up that I felt confident I would notice the smallest change Bobby made in the layout of the infirmary. I hadn't been able to test that theory yet, since nothing ever changed around here, but I kept cataloguing the rooms just in case. Secretly, I just wanted to prove that I did pay attention to my surroundings at least some of the time.

The whole walk down the stairs and down the hall to Bobby's domain I kept thinking about the fact that Lester was down here on his day off. Was he sick? Injured? Surely there had to be something wrong for him to go and visit the medic. So distracted was my mind by this conundrum, that I didn't realise I was standing outside Bobby's office door until my hand was already on the handle. I blinked, staring down at it as the noises from within filtered out. Moaning. Groaning. Lester must have been worse off than I imagined.

Without pausing to consider privacy, I pushed open the door, a question on my lips.

It died, though, as I took in the scene.

At first, I wasn't entirely sure of what I was seeing. Lester, with his pants around his ankles, leaning over the desk. It was certainly a position I remembered from the time I'd fallen out of a first floor window and landed in a pile of shattered glass in the bushes below. But something was different. The sounds he was making were longer, more akin to… I don't know, but it wasn't the sharp pain of cutting glass being removed from supple flesh.

Bobby was stood behind him, blocking the majority of his body from view. With his body… And as my gaze focused a little more I realised that Bobby's pants, too, were around his ankles. They were… Were they… _oh my God did I just walk in on Lester and Bobby having sex?!_

A squeak of horror left my throat before I could stop it, alerting the men to my presence in the doorway. Shock crossed their features as I started backing out of the room once more, pulling the door closed.

"Bomber wait!" Lester called, jerking his pants up as Bobby turned his back to the door to do the same. I was already halfway down the hall by the time he entered it. "Steph! Please!" he yelled. "Stop!"

But I didn't stop. I kept fast walking toward the stairwell. "You don't need to explain," I said over my shoulder. "It's my fault for not knocking. I was just worried that you were hurt or something, but you're clearly fine. I'll leave the envelope from Tank on your desk." And with that I ran up the two flights of stairs to the command floor. I barely slowed on my way past Lester's desk to toss the envelope into his in tray on my way back to Cal's cubicle.

He looked up, a surprised expression crossing his features, wiping away his resting bitch-face, as I came to a halt in front of him. He wasn't expecting me back so soon. And probably, I still had that shocked look in my eyes. I couldn't un-see what I'd witnessed downstairs.

"Are you okay, Bomber?" Cal asked, removing his feet from the desk once more and learning forward to get a better look at me. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Did something happen?"

 _I walked in on two of my best friends having sex_ , I wanted to say, but there was too much still unknown. What if I'd simply misinterpreted the situation? What if they _were_ together but they didn't want people to know yet? What if – oh, God, Bobby's attitude the other night made so much more sense now. I was gat crashing date night! No wonder he was cranky. I bet they hardly ever have the same night off. It must be hard for them living the way they do. Always on call in case they're needed, even on their day off.

"Steph?"

Oh, right, I hadn't replied to Cal. I'm not usually so quiet, he's probably freaking out. "I'm fine," I assured him, snapping myself out of my spiralling thoughts before the connection between my brain and my mouth malfunctions and I started spilling everything I was thinking into the open air for all to hear. "Just need some air. Maybe we should get going. You can catch me up on our skip on the way."

 _ **Thank you for you patience and feed back.**_


	9. Chapter 9

_Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to me. I took the day o-off. And I did some writing._

 **Chapter 9**

On the drive to the mall I focused all my energy on absorbing the information in the file and understanding the plan Cal had put together for the capture of Eduardo Delgado. He was not a skip I was familiar with, not from the Burg and not someone I'd dealt with previously, but Cal felt confident that between us we had enough muscle and know how to get the job done.

While I was otherwise occupied, entering rooms uninvited and seeing things I could never unsee, Cal had managed to lay his hands on Delgado's current wok roster, finding out that he would be on break from the sub-par donut shop in the food court at eleven. It was ten forty-five now, which gave us just enough time to get in place.

According to the file, Dalgado was not known to be violent or armed. He was arrested for petty theft, and under normal circumstances, Rangeman wouldn't even bat n eyelash at it. It was small potatoes. Not worth it in the big scheme of things – which is basically what Rangeman deals with when it comes to fugitive apprehension – but Vinnie was desperate in my absence and had practically begged Ranger to take _all_ cases before he had to close up shop. Or worse: call Joyce in. It seemed appropriate I was not a part of this capture.

The plan was that when Delgado sat down with his customary cup of donut holes and overly large fully caffeinated and sugared soda, I would approach and do what I did best: try to talk him into coming down to the police station without creating a scene or dousing me in garbage. I had high hopes for this one, since I wasn't directly involved in the plan that brought me here. So was Cal, actually, because he had a hot date tonight and didn't particularly want to scrub the smell of rotting food off his skin beforehand.

Cal and I stood at the edge of the food court, watching closely as Delgado removed his apron, collected his snack and made his way out through the flip top counter to a table in the centre of the seating area. I glanced to my partner, having decided – wisely, I thought – that he was running the show and I would just do as I was told. He nodded, the signal for me to make my move, and started circling around the patrons so that he would be close by for chase we both knew would ultimately happen despite the plan he'd created that had Delgado nodding politely in agreement, standing and offering his hands to be cuffed as we walked calmly and discretely from the food court.

I was wearing my trainers for a reason.

Also, I'd made sure to grab the spare set of clothes I'd thrown in a bag this morning and put in the back of the SUV

Just in case.

I'm not saying I'm gonna end up as a Jackson Pollock painting again or anything, but having reflected on my life and the events that make it up, I've come to the realisation that I have absolutely no control over the matter. Apparently, my body is a gross substances magnet. Probably, people don't even mean to throw the disgusting stuff at me, just kinda in my general direction to scare me off, but my magnetism draws it to me anyway.

I approach slowly and carefully, keeping an eye on my surroundings so I can signal to Cal if I think something is going to go awry, and before I know it, I'm dripping wet and sticky, smelling faintly of cola as I watch Cal barrelling through the crowd after our skip. Suffice to say he hadn't been all that open to the idea of coming for a ride to the police station with me and my big muscled buddy and had decided to inform me of his feelings via drink to the face distractions before he made a dash for the exit.

It's times like these that I wonder why I was so desperate to get back in the field in the first place. I mean, it's been two months since Morelli and I broke up and in those two months I have stayed blissfully clean every single day. If you don't count drops of donut jelly down the front of my shirt or the time I slipped in the mud taking the trash out to Tank's bins and landed on my ass, that is.

Accepting the wad of napkins and the sympathetic smile from the tired looking mother at the next table, I did my best to dry myself off. At least it was only a beverage this time. It could have been a lot worse. I mean, really, I was doing better than the mother, because she currently had a piece of spaghetti in her hair. I should be grateful.

I was on my way to the bathroom to do a bit more damage control when I caught sight of Cal re-entering the busy eating area. He met my gaze easily across the distance, as though the crowds between us didn't exist, and gave a small shake of the head to let me know that he hadn't managed to catch up to Delgado. Then he made a hand gesture I didn't understand. I tilted my head to the side to reflect my confusion and he did it again, but bigger. It didn't help my comprehension.

Cal made a big show of huffing out a sigh and grabbing his cell off his belt. The next moment, my own phone was ringing.

"May as well grab lunch while we're here," he said when I picked up, before I'd even uttered a greeting. One day I was going to sit all the men down and teach them about a little thing called phone etiquette. I'd put together written and practical exams if I had to, just to make sure they understood.

"I'm just gonna go wash up," I replied, tugging my wet t-shirt away from my chest.

"I'll grab you something good," he nodded, and hung up, turning away to inspect the variety of food the mall had to offer.

I was still muttering a sarcastic hello and goodbye to myself as I too turned away and was faced with the glaring face of the very person I had hoped I would not have to see on my first official venture back out into the real world. Joseph Anthony Morelli. The man who's life mission appeared to be making me look and feel like a fool both personally and professionally.

"I don't know what you did," Joe started, a scowl fixed firmly on his face as he glanced at my damp boobal region. "But there is a putrid smell throughout the entire house. I've had it professionally cleaned. Twice. And it still smells."

For a moment I had no idea what he was talking about, but he was clearly waiting for me to reply, so I did. "Gee, that's too bad." Excuse me if I didn't sound very sympathetic to his cause, but he'd wasn't exactly starting out this conversation in a friendly and civil manner.

"I've even checked for dead animals and had pest control out," he went on. "No one can find the cause."

"Mmm," I murmured. Oh, right, now I remember. Two hours of stuffing shrimp into curtain rods with Lester and Bobby. The same Lester and Bobby I'd walked in on just an hour ago doing – No. Don't think about that right now. Although, it did make me realise that Lester _always_ reserved Bobby as his first point of call. In any situation.

"Cupcake," Morelli seethed.

I cut my eyes back up to meet his gaze, noting the vein throbbing in his forehead. He so clearly trying not to make a scene, but wanted so dearly to chew me out and demand I reveal my evil doings. " _Don't_ call me Cupcake," I snapped.

He took a moment to reply then, his face contorting into something that strongly resembled a man who was not used to begging, doing just that. And hating it. His hair was dishevelled, as usual, two days of growth decorating his jaw and there was a wild look about his eyes that I'd never seen before. "Steph, please," he implored. "No one can live in that house _and_ keep their food down. I've had to move back in with my mother, the smell's that bad."

"And how is that my problem?" I asked.

And just like that, is barely bridled Italian temper burst forth in a grand show of frustration and anger, his hands flying out, just missing me in their fervour. "I _know_ you did something!" he spat. "Just tell me so I can fix it and get back to life as normal."

"Let you get back to _normal_?" I said, infusing every morsel of quiet intensity I could into the phrase, because I _knew_ that what he wanted right now was a shouting match, and I'd be damned if I gave that to him as well as my dignity. "You think you're the only one who's been affected by this? We were engaged," I stated. "We were living together. I'd just let the lease on my apartment run out because I was planning on being with you for the rest of my god forsaken life. And you _cheated_ on me. Not only that, you then broke up with me in the middle of a car bombing and played it off as a mutual falling out. No. Way. You left me betrayed and homeless. You turned my life upside down. Again. So, I'm sorry if you're suffering, but maybe this time you'll learn your lesson and keep your dick in your pants."

"For FUCK SAKE, Stephanie," Joe yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. Apparently my lack of compassion for his situation was not the kind of statement that would ensure a cool, calm and collected Morelli playing out the rest of the conversation quietly. We were now beginning yet another public display of animosity. It was our specialty, after all. "WE BOTH KNEW WE WERE NEVER GOING TO WORK OUT! WE'D BE LYING IF WE THOUGHT WE COULD STAY TOGETHER AND BE HAPPY! AND YOU CAN'T POSSIBLY TEL ME THAT IN ALL THE TIME WE WERE A COUPLE YOU _NEVER_ _ONCE_ SLEPT WITH MANOSO! THE GUYS BEEN IN YOUR BED SINCE THE MOMENT YOU MET HIM! DON'T TRY TO PIN THIS ALL ON MY WHEN YOU'VE BEEN JUST AS BIG A SLUT!"

Silence.

Complete and utter silence.

I don't think the mall has ever paid witness to so much lack of noise in all its history. Every single eye and ear in the food court was now focused on unfaithful, Joseph Morelli, and his screw up, slut of an ex Stephanie Plum. Or so Joe would have them believe. And unfortunately, I was so shocked by the slur that I couldn't find my voice to whisper a denial, let alone shout it so that every one of the onlookers could hear. All I could do was stare at him, open mouthed and breaking just a little more inside. I'd worked so hard on getting over Morelli the last few weeks. On avoiding the inevitable confrontation with the Burg that would want to know _all_ of the details straight from the horse's mouth, just to confirm their suspicions. But here I was facing down an even bigger betrayal.

When we first broke up, I honestly believed that we could have remained friends. We'd tried so hard to fit ourselves into the little box the Burg had made for us, but had never quite fit properly. But that was okay, because we'd realised before it was too late, and now we could take a step back and move on to a relationship that was easier.

Now, I knew it could never happen.

As I stared at the man I'd once fooled myself into thinking I loved, my heart beating a million times a second and threatening to jump up through my throat and burst out of my mouth if I so much as parted my lips to draw a breath, I realised it could never be. We weren't just incompatible romantically, we'd spent _so_ much time mashing ourselves together in that box that we'd damaged the friendship we might have had. The trust wasn't there. I would never be able to look at this man again and not think of what he'd just called me.

We were still standing there, so still, and silent despite the fact that if felt that every inch of my body was coming apart, our gazes clashing so violently that I was almost surprised there were no sparks between us, when Cal arrived by my side. Apparently, while everyone in the area had frozen in anticipation of what would happen next, Cal had donned his shining armour, swung himself up onto his white horse and galloped through throngs of people to rescue me.

"Come on, Steph," he said gently, laying a hand on my shoulder. "We should go."

Morelli flicked his eyes to the tattoo-headed man briefly, before an even less-kind expression took over his face. "And don't think I don't know about all the others," he informed me, his voice projecting clearly in the quiet. "No one has _that_ many men trailing behind her without offering them a little taste of the honey pot from time to time."

An audible gasp arose from the congregation, and I knew I should have turned and left him in the dust. But it wasn't just my reputation on the line anymore. He'd attacked the Merry Men. And _no one_ got away with that on my watch.

"How _dare YOU!"_ I finally burst. My hands shaking as they formed tight fists at my side. For once, I was too angry to let them fly. If I allowed my arms to move from my sides they would most likely plant my fists in the middle of his face and even with all these witnesses to testify that it was provoked, I didn't think I could get away with such an action. "I have NEVER been unfaithful to you!" I shouted. "I have NEVER slept with another man while we were together. And I have NEVER slept with any of Ranger's men!" I jerked forward a step, my face ending up inches from his, but not in the good way. Never again, in the good way. "They follow me around because we're friends and they care about my safety and probably at least partly because of direct orders from their boss, but I have _NEVER IN MY LIFE GIVEN THEM A TASTE OF MY HONEY POT_. I'm sure your reputation has taken a big hit from the rumours that have been circulating about your infidelity, but that doesn't mean you have to attack mine. I didn't tell you to have sex with that woman. That was all you. So don't go taking out on me!"

Having uttered the last words I ever wanted to speak to Morelli, I turned on the heal of my beat up trainers, ignored the cold cling of my still wet t-shirt and took a single step away from him before he found his voice again, sneering out a final blow in the hopes of tearing me down completely.

"You're a slut and everyone knows it," he said quietly. There was no need to project anymore. Everyone could hear just fine. And everyone knows words hurt more when they're stated calmly than if they're shouted in your face. "You've probably been shacked up with Manoso and the rest of your male harem for the last two months. No wonder no one's seen you around. It's hard to find the energy to actually earn a living when you have that man men reaming you out daily. I'm surprised you can even walk.

An incoherent noise left my throat as I spun back around, arms flailing in a poor preparation of a punch I never got the opportunity to throw. Because just as I was stepping forward to land a physical blow, Cal's fist exploded onto the scene, colliding with Morelli's gut and following it up with a swing at the face. As Morelli doubled over, spraying blood over the white mall tiles, Cal leaned down and whispered something threateningly in his ear.

I was breathing hard, staring wide eyed when Cal straightened once more, dusting off his hands and turning to face me. I didn't know what to do. I mean, I was glad Morelli's face was bleeding now. That had been my intention. But now I had all this pent up energy that I didn't know what to do with. It wound tightly in my gut, growing larger and larger until it was encompassing my entire body.

"Come on," Cal uttered, taking my elbow and ushering me out of the food court and the mall altogether. "You're gonna crash any minute. We need to get you decent donuts."

 ** _As always I would like to express my gratitude to all your lovely souls out there who read and review my work. Without you I wouldn't be the writer I am today._**


	10. Chapter 10

_So as I was preparing to write Chapter 20 (which is where I'm up to in writing this story) I made a decision that meant I had to do some minor rewrites in earlier chapters (which are still yet to be released, thank goodness). But then my life got stressful and full on and I couldn't seem to find the enthusiasm for writing that I needed to complete a chapter. After a few good cries and release of tension, I finally managed to (stay up past my bedtime and) get it done. And I feel so much better for it._

 _And I'm so very sick of Fanfiction doing whatever the fuck it is it does when it inserts gobbledegook nto my writing to make it unreadale. Seriously. I did nothing different in my upload process. Don't insert that junk! (End rant)_

 **Chapter 10**

We didn't speak on the way back to Rangeman. I was too furious to form words, or even devour the dozen Krispy Kremes he'd picked up for me. I kept replaying the confrontation in my head. Reliving the utter silence that followed Morelli's outburst, leaving absolutely no doubt that everyone in the food court had heard him call me a slut. And _everyone_ in the Burg would know about it by dinner time. The problem there was, I couldn't guarantee that my truth would be made known as well. It was far more scandalous and intriguing to spread the word that Stephanie Plum was a slut, sleeping with a hundred men than the mere fact that we'd had yet another public meltdown.

As we turned into the street that Rangeman was on, Cal glanced over at me, slowing the car in an obvious bid to delay our arrival so he could… I don't know what.

"Steph?" he said cautiously. Probably, my bad mood was thick in the air and he didn't want to set me off. I honestly didn't think I could be set off, at least not by anyone other than Morelli, or someone agreeing with him, but you never know. I'd been known to go flying off the handle a time or two in the past.

"I'm fine," I assured him. "Let's just get back to Rangeman so I can bury myself in some paperwork and pretend this never happened."

He sighed. "You can't hide at Rangeman forever," he pointed out, creeping the SUV along the street at half the speed of a snail. "The longer you avoid it, the worse it will get."

"Have you ever had an entire town talking about you behind your back? Whispering to each other as you pass them in the supermarket? Spreading nasty rumours without a single care for finding out the truth?"

He shook his head.

"Didn't think so," I agreed. "So excuse me if I'm not eager to go out and experience the harsh world that is the Burg with a new scandal in its grips."

Nodding silently, he hit the button on the dash that communicated with the gate to the underground car park and pulled into the first space. I was out of the car as soon as he'd come to a complete stop, making my way to the stairwell and practically running all the way to the fifth floor and Tank's office.

The door was closed, indicating that he was in a meeting, so I pushed open the door to Ranger's office instead, leaving the door open and sidling around the desk to sit in his chair so I could see Tank's door across the hall and know when he was available to talk. I know I'd just seen him that morning, demanding he allow me out in the world but now I needed to take it back. I didn't need to be out in the world. I didn't need to see the knowing glances and hear the hurried whispers as I passed by. I didn't need any of it. What I needed was to be as far away from the Burg as possible. Maybe I'd _request_ to be shipped out to a third world country. I know I'd been terrified of such an outcome ever since the idea had been planted in my brain, but honestly, with the weight of the Burg breathing down my neck, I think walking ten miles a day for drinkable water seemed rather refreshing.

Ranger's large leather chair dwarfed me. It always seemed a normal size when he was sitting in it, but with my ass in it, I could cross my legs on the seat without feeling cramped and the backrest came up past my shoulders. I didn't think of myself as a small person, nor did I regard Ranger as overly large, but apparently there was a size difference that I just never noticed. I was in the middle of adjusting my position so my legs were slung over one arm rest and my head over the other when Tank's door swung open and he stepped out into the hall.

He must have sensed my presence, because his gaze landed on me within a second. "What happened?" he asked, stepping through the door and closing it behind him.

"Things didn't go as well as I'd hoped," I admitted, sitting upright once more.

"Morelli's an ass," Tank assured me.

"Cal called you?"

He shook his head. "Just a hunch." He dropped his massive body into one of Ranger's normal sized guest chairs, making me think of Goldilocks and the three bears. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

"Not particularly."

"Are you gonna be okay?"

A shrug of my shoulders sent a waft of cola up to my nose, reminding me of the failed capture that paled in comparison to everything that happened after. "Anyone's guess at this point," I said on a sigh, laying my forehead on the blotter. "I always knew that Joe had a mean streak," I explained to the desk. "I'd seen it on more occasions that I care to admit, but he'd never turned it on me. I figured we had a friendship, even with the shit we'd been through that protected me from his scorn. Apparently I was wrong."

"Whatever he said is completely not true," Tank stated firmly. "He's a douche and you shouldn't listen to him. Ever. The fact that he managed to be civil with you for as long as he did is a miracle. But clearly, he doesn't give a shit anymore. And so, we don't give a shit about him." It was sweet of him to say but I was pretty sure they didn't really give a shit about him even before we broke up. "We're all here for you," he added softly. "Tell me what you need and we'll make it happen."

"Cal already probably broke his nose," I said, grimacing at both the memory and the way my face stuck to the blotter as I attempted to lift it. "I think that's punishment enough."

Tank nodded, appearing pleased at the news, but mentioned darkly, "I would prefer if he was in traction, but I'll accept this. But I didn't mean what you needed to happen to the cop. I meant what you needed to help you get through this."

I thought about it for a while, staring at the photo on Ranger's desk of the pair of us in Hawaii. We looked so happy in the picture. Tanned and beaming. "Honestly, I think I need a holiday," I murmured. "Not that I can afford one even with my savings over the last few weeks."

Averting my gaze from the contentment in the photo, I glanced at Tank's thoughtful face. It hit me that more and more I was faced with actual expressions in this building. The men no longer slammed on their blank masks every time they had an emotion. They were far more open than they had been when we first met years ago. And that was made clear by the fact that I could tell that Tank was thinking, rather than just staring at me blankly like he used to. I used to worry that he didn't understand half of what came out of my mouth because of all the silence and staring he subjected me to, but now he allowed me to know that I'd been heard and he was working on a solution. I may not be able to tell _what_ he was thinking, but at least I could see that he was thinking. It was the same with most of the guys.

"What if I got you a transfer to the Boston office?" he asked after a few minutes. "Hugh has been begging me to share your expertise around for a while now, anyway."

"And Hugh is?" I asked, trying to ignore the offer of a transfer just for now.

"The manager in Boston. He's seen the improved numbers here in Trenton since you came on board and wants in on the action."

I shook my head. "There's nothing I do that you all wouldn't have worked out eventually," I pointed out. "My views aren't new."

"No," he agreed. "But you're efficient and it' brushed off on the men. When you make a connection early on and show them how you came to that conclusion, they remember it for next time and make sure to explore that new avenue when it presents itself again. You've taught the guys a heap just by being you. If you could do the same for the Boston crew and maybe even Miami, we could increase our productivity across the board by ten percent."

"Woah," I sad, holding up my hands in the universal signal for 'slow down a minute.' "You don't have to math at me, Tank. I'll go."

"And that's why we love you," Tank grinned. "You're always there to help out where you're needed." He pushed to his feet, running a hand briefly over his bald head. Sometimes I imagine this action is a holdover from the days when he had hair and would run a hand over it to make sure it was still in place. Mostly, I just liked imagining Tank with hair. I'd pictured him with all sorts of styles over the years: afros, buzz cuts, hipster man buns. Pretty much every time I saw a new hairstyle, I pictured it on Tank. It kept me occupied on long stake outs.

"I'll go make some phone calls. You take the rest of the day off and we'll meet at Shorty's tonight. Nineteen hundred hours."

"Nineteen hundred…" I murmured, trying to remember the formula Hal had taught me to convert military time to real person time. "Um…"

"Seven P.M." Tank added, saving my brain. "Go home. Have a shower. De-stickify yourself. It'll all work out.

I smiled gratefully up at him. "At least a cola rinse is supposed to be good for the hair," I recalled aloud.

"See?" Tank agreed. "The power of positive thinking. Now get out of here."

 _ **I'm trying to start thinking more positively as a result of events from the last couple of weeks, so if you have a moment free please PM me your favourite inspirational quote.**_  
 _ **And as always, I'd love to read your reviews on this chapter as well./em/strong/p**_


	11. Chapter 11

_So many books that I've been waiting on have come out in the last couple of weeks. But I can't concentrate on any of them, because my muse keeps telling me to write. Good for you guys. Bad for my reading challenge (zero books completed so far this year...)_

 **Chapter 11**

Shorty's was it's usual thriving hub of activity when I arrived just after seven that evening. In an effort to calm down and process everything that had happened to me today, I'd collapsed on the bed in my thinking position after my shower and promptly fallen asleep only to wake with a start a maximum of twenty minutes ago. My hair, having air dried without any product and rubbing against the bedding, had been frightful and only just tameable by a big messy bun on the top of my head. I was hoping the crease marks from my sheets had disappeared on the drive over, but let's face it, the way my luck was going today, I probably looked like a wrinkly old hag.

Huffing out a breath, I pushed through the door and started across the restaurant to our usual booth at the back without so much as a glance at my surroundings. Shorty's was far enough from the Burg that I was safe here from the prying eyes and the kinds of conversations that happened close to ears and behind hands. I didn't have to worry about gossips here.

Except the men, but that was never about me.

My steps faltered just a second when the table in the back corner came into view and I quickly noted that it was currently occupied by more than just Tank. Sitting side by side in the booth with their backs to me were Lester and Bobby. The scene from this morning ran through my mind in a flash of naked flesh and surprised expressions. I wasn't ready to face them yet. I didn't know how to act around them. I hadn't taken the time to come to terms with what I'd seen this morning. If only I hadn't fallen asleep so easily. Or maybe taken the time to consider that when Tank said to meet him at Shorty's he meant for a 'we're all together' dinner, and not a 'just us' meal. I should have known better. 'Just us' dinners happened exclusively in the granny flat.

Shoving all those thoughts down as far as they would go: right down into my pinkie toes, I pulled up my big girl panties and continued the rest of the way to the table. I could do this. There was nothing different today than there was yesterday apart from the fact that I was aware.

"Hey Bomber," Lester enthused, turning his easy grin my way as I reached the table.

"Hey," I replied, sliding into the booth across from him and forcing Tank to shuffle over. "How's it going?"

"Better now you're hear," Tank assured me before either of the other men could reply. He looked like he wanted to sigh, but I knew from experience that such obvious emotional displays were not allowed in public. "Maybe now we can have a mature conversation instead of debating who's hotter: Mrs. Doubtfire or Nanny McPhee."

The very suggestion that the guys would even know who Nanny McPhee was caused a sudden burst of laughter to escape me. The only reason I was even aware of the movie was because my nieces made me watch it with them last time I babysat. I couldn't picture the guys all gathering in the common room on the fourth floor to watch kids' movies.

"Well," I said thoughtfully, pouring myself a glass of iced tea from the jug on the table. "Nanny McPhee does have the advantage of turning into a vaguely attractive woman at the end," I pointed out. "As opposed to being a middle aged man in old lady drag."

As soon as the words left my mouth I recalled what happened in Bobby's office this morning, which I am pretty sure was an intimate moment between two men. Who was I to judge what they found attractive? Mentally admonishing myself, I studiously folded and refolded the napkin in front of me. "I mean, I'm not saying you _can't_ find old lady man attractive," I added awkwardly. "But if I swung that way, I'd probably go for Nanny McPhee at the end of the movie."

"I dunno," Bobby said with a shy smile. "I think she's pretty hot at the beginning of the movie, with the snaggle tooth and the warts and stuff. And the way she bangs her staff and makes things happen? Mmmm," he closed his eyes in mock ecstasy.

"I'd let her bang my staff any day," Lester chipped in, as always seizing the opportunity to make a suggestive comment. No wonder I never considered the fact that he might be gay. He was constantly hitting on women. And when he wasn't, he was listing the ways in which he would have them screaming in pleasure.

Come to think of it, maybe I'm over thinking what I saw this morning. Bobby's the company medic, I'm sure he had men in his office with their pants down all the time. Maybe Lester came to him with some concerns about something he'd found and Bobby was just showing him that whatever was going on below the belt was normal.

Except that's not what it sounded like.

"Three large pizzas with surprise toppings," Tank stated, snapping my attention back to the table and the fact that the waitress was standing at the end of it, not more than six inches away from my elbow, and I hadn't even noticed. "And a pitcher of beer."

As she nodded and walked away, I turned my body to face Tank more fully. "How'd the phone call go?" I asked, not wanting to get my hopes up, but also not wanting to delay if the opportunity to get out of this town at least for a little arose.

"He practically leapt at the opportunity to steal you away," Tank assured me with a slight nod. "You're expected to report to his office no later than ten hundred hours Friday."

Overjoyed by the news, I was unable to suppress the impulse to lurch forward and hug him. "Thank you so much," I said into his shoulder. "You have no idea how much I need this."

"Need what?" Bobby asked curiously as Tank awkwardly patted my back.

"Sounds like you're going away," Lester added, a guarded curiosity – almost suspicion, but not quite – creeping into his tone.

"Where are you sending her, Tank?" Bobby asked as I slowly slid back to my end of the cushioned bench seat. He didn't sound very happy either.

"Stephanie is going up to Boston to show them all that they're losers and learn them a few search skills," Tank explained easily. "Hugh's been begging for a loan of her for a while now, so it seemed the obvious solution to Steph's current predicament."

He was listening intently to Tank, I could tell, but Lester's eyes were trained solely on me. It was the kind of sees-all gaze I imagined him using on prisoners to get them to cave and tell him exactly what he wanted to know. "What predicament would that be?" he asked in a shockingly natural and light voice given the current stare down I was receiving.

"I just need to get away," I explained earnestly. "Everything is spiralling out of control and I don't think I can face the people in this town without thinking about everything they've witnessed. I can't take back what happened. And I can't make them see how things really are. I don't feel comfortable here anymore."

"Steph," Lester's voice was low and tender, drawing my gaze back up from the napkin I was now shredding to pieces. "This doesn't have anything to do with this morning, does it?"

Tank scoffed at his question, spitting out a reply before I could even fully comprehend what he was referring to. "It has everything to do with this morning," he assured him. "Why else would we suddenly be putting wheels in motion?"

"Oh God," Bobby breathed, reaching across the table to lay his hand on top of mine. "We are so sorry! We never meant for you to find out like that! I thought I'd locked the door and-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Tank demanded.

"Steph please don't leave because of this," Lester pleaded, ignoring Tank. "We don't want to be the reason you leave your entire life behind. Whatever you need us to do to make things less uncomfortable –"

"That's a double negative," Bobby interrupted. "You mean less awkward or more-"

"-just tell us and we'll do it," Lester finished, ignoring Bobby's input as well.

For a moment, I was utterly confused by their sudden ardent pleading. They hadn't done anything. It was all the Burg and Morelli. But then it hit me. They thought I was leaving because of I wasn't comfortable in Trenton after catching them in the act this morning!

"Oh my god, no, it has nothing to do with that," I assured them, feeling the heat of a deep blush rushing into my cheeks. "That- I was… it caught me by surprise, but- I wasn't expecting…. I mean, I never thought – Didn't Cal tell you what happened at the mall?"

"Between you and Morelli?" Tank asked. "No. He refused to tell us. He's of the opinion that if you wanted to talk about it you would tell us. But I'm sure I can guess at it." He paused a fraction of a second to spear Bobby and Lester with a hard glare, flicking his attention between them and me like he was looking for answers in our faces. "I'm more interested in what happened between the three of _you_ his morning and why Lester Santos and Robert Brown appear so guilty that they would probably be willing to grovel on their bellies for forgiveness if they thought it would work."

"I-" I started.

"We-" Lester tried.

"There was-" Bobby attempted.

"One of you needs to spit it out, right now, or I'm going to get Hector to investigate the security footage," Tank threatened.

I gulped. I didn't particularly want my reaction to the situation in real time to be made known to any more people than it already was. It was embarrassing enough as it was. "Well," I started, returning to my napkin ripping. "When you gave me that envelope for Lester this morning, I went to his apartment to drop it off but he didn't answer the door. Hal came out and told me Lester went to see Bobby, so I made my way down to the medical suite. I was kinda worried about why Lester would need to go see Bobby, so I wasn't thinking very clearly, and I pushed open the door to the office without knocking and-"

"And what?" Tank demanded when I trailed off.

"What envelope?" Lester added curiously, looking between us. Apparently he was also in favour of delaying the reveal.

"Lester and I were in the office on the third floor," Bobby stated, staring directly at Tank's forehead. Obviously avoiding eye contact. I couldn't blame him. Tank's gaze could be poisonous when he was angry, and given the fact that there was hanky-panky going on during work hours, I couldn't see him being overly happy about this. "But he wasn't getting a check-up."

The muscles in Tank's jaw tightened and I was suddenly grateful that he was not a biter. If his jaw muscles were anything like the rest of his muscles, I felt confident a lot of people would be missing chunks of themselves if Tank were inclined to bite people when he got angry. Like a really big pit bull. "If he wasn't getting a check-up, what _was_ he getting?" Tank seethed.

"A. Thorough. Fucking," Lester said with deliberate slowness.

Silence encompassed the table following his words, but unlike the blanket of silence that covered the shopping mall food court this morning, this lack of words between the four of us had mixed feelings. Tank, I could tell, was furious. The jaw he had clenched moments ago only got tighter so that I was concerned he was going to break a tooth if he didn't ease up. Lester was as unapologetic as ever, staring Tank straight in the eye and daring him to say what he was going to say. Bobby was staring at the right side of Lester's face with an expression of shock slackening his jaw. He should offer some of that looseness to Tank before his jaw's fuse together from the pressure.

And then there was me. I didn't know where to look. My face, felt like it was on fire from the blush heating my cheeks. I kind of wanted to excuse myself to the ladies room while the three of them worked out whatever they needed to work out. But at the same time, I didn't want to leave Lester and Bobby alone with Tank in his current fury. He would likely punish them way too harshly. And they didn't deserve that for my inability to consider other people's privacy.

"How. Many. Times," Tank bit out after several minutes. "Do you have to be told to keep it in your pants at work?"

Lester was clearly not as intimidated by Tank's show of anger as he should have been. "To be honest, though, the line between work and home is kinda blurry, since it's all in the same building and I'm always on call even when I'm offline."

"Then move out!" Tank suggested. "If you're not on the fourth floor you're not at home so you shouldn't be inserting any part of your anatomy into anyone else's."

Surprisingly, Lester's lips kicked up into an unapologetic grin. "I wasn't," he informed his boss.

A collective groan rose from the rest of us. Lester had no boundaries. He was a chronic over sharer. Especially when it made people feel uncomfortable. Thankfully, Bobby took the opportunity to take over the speaking at that point.

"Anyway, Steph caught us in a compromising position and quickly ran away before we could explain. Then when we arrived here tonight and found out she'd requested a transfer because of something that happened this morning we just assumed that was it."

"It wasn't," I assured them. "Yes, I was shocked. I hadn't even realised you were together, but it was just a surprise. I wish I hadn't caught you in _that_ _position_ ," I added, suddenly remembering another time I'd caught two people bent over a table like that. "But I'm not going to abandon our friendship just because I found out you're gay."

"I guess if we're labelling things, I'm actually Bi," Lester corrected. "But there aren't a lot of men I find attractive."

"He's definitely a ladies man," Bobby confirmed. "Except when it comes to me."

Lester nodded agreement. "It's true. Bobby is one of only a handful of men I've found attractive in my lifetime. And that's including myself." As much as it had

At that moment the discussion was interrupted by the waitress bringing over our pizzas. No one spoke as they were set on the table. No one spoke as she walked away. No one spoke for several moments. Until Bobby finally laid his hands on the table and speared me with a soulful gaze and changed the topic. As much as it was good to clear the air about their relationship and sexuality, it was a relief to move away from it. I didn't exactly relish thinking about walking in on them, even though they both had _extremely_ fine bodies.

"So you're really leaving us?" he asked.

I nodded, my stomach doing a small flip at the thought. I hadn't had a chance to really think about that either, today. That nap had seriously cut in on my contemplation time. Swallowing at the realisation that by transferring to Boston I was leaving behind all the guys I'd come to think of as my friends as well as all the shit happening in my life, I started in on the explanation of what had gone down between Morelli and I at the mall.

"And all of a sudden he was yelling at me about being a slut," I said calmly around the last bite of my first slice of pizza. I'd decided to give them the cliff notes version in an attempt to get past it as quickly as possible and they'd been patiently listening as they always did when I had something important to say, but at that last sentence they all hissed in a simultaneous breath. Something told me I wasn't going to get through this as quickly as I thought.

"He _what?!"_ Lester demanded, attempting to bolt to his feet, forgetting that he was in a booth and there was really no room for standing. "How fucking _dare_ he say something like that! And in front of all those people that were clearly listening! Jesus fucking Christ! I'm gonna kill him!"

"Don't," I said quietly, but there was little force behind my words. I couldn't work up the strength to defend Morelli after what he'd put me through.

"Bomber, we can't just let this go," Bobby said gently.

I shook my head in denial, selecting another slice of pizza from the trays before me. "I'm not finished," I pointed out. "It gets worse."

"WORSE?" Lester raged.

"He didn't just accuse me of sleeping with _Ranger_ while I was technically in a relationship with Joe. He accused me of sleeping with _all_ of you. He said that the only way I could have so many men following me around was if I let them 'sample the honey pot' from time to-"

"THAT'S IT!" Lester yelled, causing everyone in the restaurant to stop and stare at the commotion he was causing. I ducked my head. I'd been at the centre of enough scrutiny today, I didn't need everyone _outside_ the Burg to be talking about me as well. "He's not gonna live through the night," Lester said much quieter, sliding out of the both to stand this time. "He cannot say stuff like that and get away with it! I'm gonna-"

"Sit down," Tank said. Calmly. Quietly. Scarily. Lester abruptly sat back down, staring at the bald man across the table with fire in his eyes. "No one is doing anything. You need to calm down."

"But he can't just say stuff like that about Bomber," Bobby pointed out. Clearly just as outraged as Lester was, but able to control it better. "He-"

Tank raised an eyebrow, effectively shutting down _both_ men's protests without another word. With an ever so slight tilt of the head in my direction, both men turned their gazes on me, still wild eyed and dangerous looking. "Thank about it carefully," was all Tank said.

Something tickled my forearm and I looked down to find that the slice of pizza I'd retrieved was now squished in my fist, sending a trail of oil and tomato sauce down my arm. Apparently seeing the guys so angry had made me a bit tense. I may not like Morelli at all at the moment, but I didn't want him dead. I never wanted anyone to die because of me again. I quickly released it back onto the tray and went to grab my napkin to clean up the mess only to remember that I'd destroyed mine. Before I could even think of the next step, Bobby had seized my hand gently in his and was using his own napkin to clean me up.

"Sorry," Lester breathed. "I got carried away. I just can't believe he did that! The shitrooster."

A small, surprised chuckle broke free of my lungs. "Shitrooster?"

"What?" Lester asked. "I can't even call him names? Jesus. When did all my rights get taken away."

Now it was Tank's turn to shake his head. "You can call him whatever you want. You can be as uncivilised toward him as you can without getting yourself arrested. But you are not to lay a hand on him. Everyone in this town knows that there is no love lost between Morelli and Rangeman and if something mysteriously happens to him in the dead of night you can bet your bottom dollar they'll know where to start their investigation."

"So you're transferring to get away from Morelli?" Bobby asked, having finished wiping away the sauce and also devouring the mangled piece from the tray.

"And the Burg," I added solemnly. "I don't want to have to deal with the accusations and rumours. It's bad enough when I accidentally blow up a car, let alone everything that's going on between Morelli and I at the moment."

"How do you know they'll take his side?" Lester enquired. "Morelli's been in the pants of half the women in Trenton. Are they really going to believe him over you?"

"It doesn't matter what they believe," I sighed. "They'll still talk. There'll still be the rumours flying around. Especially since I do spend so much of my time with you guys these days."

"How bad could it be?" Bobby said.

In reply, I retrieved my cell from my handbag where I'd dumped it after switching off when Cal and I made it to the parking lot that morning. I hadn't checked it since. Switching it on, I laid it on the table and waited. After a minute or so it started beeping and vibrating. And didn't stop. One hundred and twelve messages later, I picked up the phone and tapped on the first one that wasn't a notification for a missed call and read it aloud to the group.

 _"Got any tips for keeping that many fuck buddies on the string at once? I get bored with just one or two."_

"Who was that from?" Tank asked.

"No idea," I admitted.

Lester grabbed the phone from my hands to inspect it himself, flicking through the other messages. "How did they get your number?"

"Probably the same place they got the false information," I said. "People talk in the town. It doesn't matter how untrue it is. The nastier the better. Three years ago it was revealed that the baby that Erin McCullers gave birth to belonged not to her husband but the coach of the high school swim team," I explained. "They're still ridiculing her to this day. She moved away after a year and a half of it. I swear these people are worse than the villagers in Beauty and the Beast."

 ** _Thanks to everyone who continues to support me._**


	12. Chapter 12

_Wow... So I had intended on posting this chapter about a month ago. The chapter I just finished has been almost complete since late February, but work, and choir, and responsibility and a bout of depression got in my way. Yesterday saw the first choir concert for the year and it was mostly a success, so I've rewarded myself with some time at the computer for writing to finish off the chapter so I can post this one. (Okay, gonna stop rambling now, cause I have a feeling I'm not making sense)._

 **Chapter 12**

It was with a great many hugs and promises that the guys and I eventually parted ways in the departure lounge at Newark airport Thursday morning. All my belongings were either packed up and being stuffed into the back of the plane as we spoke, or boxed up and being stored in Tank's garage. There wasn't terribly much to show for my thirty-five years of life, but it was me and I didn't want to just get rid of it.

Each of the three guys standing before me now had offered to come with me at least for a few days to help ease the transition, but I'd refused. It was just delaying the inevitable. The Boston crew were acutely aware of my 'special circumstances' such as they were with Ranger and had heard enough stories about my escapades and penchant for finding myself in the wrong place at the right time that they'd apparently put together an extensive 'Welcome to Boston" training program for me. I had a feeling, based on what I'd heard from Lester, that there was a power point presentation involved. I could feel a yawn coming on at the very thought of it.

Bobby had forwarded my medical history, complete with notes on how to deal with me when I refused to go to the hospital (I assumed that was just Bobby's number written out with ' _call me'_ under it) to the Boston medic, a 'perfectly capable' guy by the name of Stitch. If he didn't have four arms, blue fur and a funny voice I was going to be disappointed. I'd mentioned as much to Bobby and received a guffaw in response but no warning not to say that kind of thing to the man himself, so I was planning an opening line about Ohana for when I met him.

"Don't forget to call," Lester reminded me, wiping away the tears that had suddenly sprung to my eyes as they called my flight to be boarded. Despite everything in my life at the moment I just wasn't ready to leave these guys behind. They'd been the best friends a girl could have.

"Hey now," Bobby said softly, leaning into Lester's shoulder. The last few days they'd been much more open with their relationship. "Hey now."

"Don't dream it's over," Lester crooned, finishing Bobby's unintentional song lyrics.

I sniffled a weak smile, but my heard was aching.

"We'll be on the other end of the phone any time you need to talk," Bobby soothed, reaching over to put a hand on my shoulder. "If anyone gives you a hard time, you have to tell us straight away. You're moving to Boston to get away from the crap, so don't let any new crap in."

"What is this?" I asked, managing to control my waterworks. "My first day of kindergarten?"

"Feels a bit like it," Tank admitted, briefly squeezing my other shoulder. "Have you got your lunch box?"

We all gave a short laugh, during which Lester pulled us into a rare group hug. God, we were turning into a bunch of touchy feely sissies. It might be a good thing I was moving away for a while, or we might have been braiding each other's hair and making daisy chain necklaces by the time Ranger got back from wherever he was. Just the thought of Tank with a full head of hair was enough to sober me up from my well of sadness. And just in time, too, because as Lester finally relinquished his grip on us, the final boarding call for my flight came over the loud speaker.

"Seriously, though," Bobby assured me. "You'll make new friends in no time."

And with that final encouragement, I was ushered throught the doors into the plane. The first step to a new – albeit temporary – life.

*o*

One and a half hours later I emerged from the cramped tube that masqueraded as a 'luxurious' passenger plane and made my way through the unfamiliar airport towards baggage claim where I would meet my very first Boston Merry Man. I had a quick look around when I first arrived at the carousel for the tell-tale muscular man in painted on black t-shirt and coordinating cargos and combat boots, but couldn't find them, so I proceeded to focus on retrieving my belongings.

I had the long strap of my duffle hooked over my arm and was attempting to manoeuvre my overly large and extremely heavy suitcase off the moving pathway when an arm reached around me, deftly disengaged my hand from the handle and slid the case to the stationary ground beside me like it weighed no more than a baby bird.

"Thanks," I said, huffing an escaped curl from my face.

"No problem," he replied. His voice was low and gravelly, which I'd learned over the years working with the guy at Rangeman was not synonymous with cranky or bad guy. A lot of my preconceived ideas and stereotypes had been smashed by the Merry Men and as I finally managed to secure all my bags to the correct body parts and lift my head to see my saviour – a typically muscled man in a skin tight black on black Rangeman uniform, sporting a full head of closely cropped bright red hair and a facial scar that reminded me of the character Scar from the Lion King – I realised this was going to be yet another case.

Unless he turned out to be an asshole, that is.

"You must be Ms Plum," he said, flipping a little placard I hadn't noticed before up to reveal my name in bold letters.

"What do you mean 'must be'?" I asked, trying my hardest not to take offense.

"Just that you match the description and file photo I received in my orders," he explained with a shrug, deftly sliding my hand off and his hand on to the suitcase handle again. "This way."

I decided to let this one go, not wanting to delve into what kinds of descriptions he'd received while we were out in a public place. I didn't need locals overhearing and making snap judgements. As he strode away with my luggage, the seas of people parting in his path, it was all I could do to jog along in his wake.

"You know my name," I pointed out as we broke free of the masses and started moving quicker toward the exit. "Can I know yours?"

"You can," he stated simply as I managed to catch up enough to walk beside him. I waited for him to fill in the obvious blanks, but we'd covered a hundred yards in silence and he wasn't forthcoming with the information.

"Well, are you going to tell me?" I asked.

"I am," he agreed easily. He hadn't so much as glanced at me since we started moving, too focused on our exit (and presumably keeping an invisible eye on everything around us).

"Can you tell me _now_?" I felt like an impatient child, but he was being deliberately difficult.

"I _can_ ," he said.

"But you won't?" I was studying the side of his scarred face, trying to read a professionally unreadable expression.

"That's not what you asked," he informed me.

My feet froze to the tiles. "What?"

It took him a few steps to realise I'd stopped, at which point he turned to face me fully, a professionally blank expression on his face. I could see I was going to need break the Boston Merry Men of that habit, and soon. I'd gotten too used to the Trenton guys being at ease around me. My ability to read micro expressions had gotten rusty.

"What's wrong?" he asked, eyeing me carefully.

"Why won't you tell me your name?"

He shrugged. "Because you haven't asked me to."

A frustrated growl bubbled up my throat and burst out of my mouth. My fists clenched tighter around the straps of the bags I carried. "Yes I have!" I insisted. "Multiple times now."

"No," he disagreed matter-of-factly. "You haven't. You have merely questioned my ability to tell you my name and if I _would_ tell you. I have answered all your questions accurately. You _can_ know my name. I _can_ tell you my name. And I _will_ tell you my name. Just as soon as you asked the right question."

I glared at him for a full minute, trying to calm down so I wouldn't go flying off he handle in my first ten minutes of my new life. It was hard, but once I reminded myself that most of the anger currently coursing through my body was actually earmarked for Morelli and the residents of Chambersburg, Trenton, I was able to bottle it. At least until my first training session in the gym. I'd found that my self-defence lessons were extremely useful for working off my anger at the world.

"What is your name?" I asked slowly, working to not clench my jaw.

"You didn't say 'please'," he replied nonchalantly, and I thought I saw a hint of a smile as he turned to resume wheeling my luggage toward the parking complex.

Or so I thought, because as I trotted to catch up to him once more, we passed a sign that pointed toward parking and veered in the opposite direction.

"Uhhh…" I uttered, ever so eloquently. "Where are we going?"

"Back to Rangeman."

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from making a snarky comment. This guy was really bringing out the worst in me. "Are we walking?" I asked instead.

He glanced over his shoulder at me, his damaged eye half squinting. "Currently," he said. "Yes."

"No," I sighed. "Are we walking _to Rangeman_?"

"No."

"Where are we walking to?" I tried.

"You shouldn't end a sentence with a preposition," he informed me. "It's bad grammar."

That was it. One of us wasn't going to make it to Rangeman. I wasn't entirely sure yet which on, but if he dodged one more question I was probably going to tackle him , wrangle his gun out of his holster and shoot him. Probably not a fatal shot, but still.

Taking a deep breath to keep my cool, I asked the most carefully worded question of my life: "What is the destination to which we are walking?" He was making me feel like I did when I was writing my first assignment for college. Stupid. Like I wasn't ready for this section of my life.

"We are walking to the pickup zone," he said, offering up the most comprehensive statement of information since we met. "Harry's doing a lap of the airport and is gonna pick us up there."

"Oh, okay" I said, grateful that he had decided to be helpful. I hiked my handbag a little higher, adjusted my grip on the duffle and skipped a step to fall in rhythm with him, even just for a few strides. "So will you _please_ tell me your name?"

"I will," he agreed, coming to a halt at the curb among a long line of waiting travellers. As soon as he'd made sure that my suitcase wasn't going to roll away on him, he turned a blinding and also mildly frightening grin in my direction. "You'll find the phrasing eventually."

"May you _please,_ for Christ sake, tell me what your _god damn_ name is?" I growled.

"May is for when _you_ want to do something."

Shaking my head, I dropped my bags at my feet and pulled my phone out of my pocket, hitting speed dial 2. "Whatever," I grunted. "I'm gonna call Tank."

"What?" he asked, a hint of panic in his tone. I'd be lying if I said I didn't take a little pleasure in it. "Why?"

It seemed the Boston crew, or at the very least this member of it, was scared of the big man. Interesting nugget of information to file away for later. "I'm just letting him know that I landed safely," I pointed out. "Why? Is there something else I should be telling him while I'm at it?"

In the few seconds it took for me to reply, he'd managed to school his expression back into the blank face I knew so well. "No," he said.

Giving him an admittedly satisfied smile, I raised the phone to me ear just in time to hear the final ring before Tank's booming voice travelling down the line. "Please tell me you've changed your mind and you're coming back on the next available flight," he said. "The men are in a deep state of depression knowing that you're not here anymore."

"They're just sad because they have to start doing their own searches again," I quipped, rolling my eyes at my new 'friend'. If I wasn't mistaken, he had a peculiar, almost curious expression lurking just beneath the surface. He was still worried. As much as he didn't want me to know, the fact that I could talk so casually to the second in charge had him nervous. It probably didn't help that I had a very commonly known intimate past with the big boss. Gauging the overall feel of the Boston crew would be an eye opening activity.

"You're completely right," Tank agreed easily. "They do hate sitting at their desks."

"Don't we all though?"

Mr. Mystery Merry Man, I noticed, was watching me carefully out of the corner of his eye while maintaining the appearance of looking out for the standard black SUV. It was only because I was so attuned to noticing the little ways the men spy on people without looking like it that I was able to up on it.

"So I assume you've landed safely and are calling to let me know," Tank mentioned. "Have you found your first Boston babysitter?"

I made a sound of confirmation. "Can he really be called a babysitter though?" I asked. "I mean his whole job is to get me from Point A to Point B. Not to keep an eye on me and make sure I don't die while mom and dad are away."

As Tank chuckled into my ear, I took pleasure in the slight expression change that I interpreted as confusion on the marred face of my supposed babysitter.

"Actually, that _is_ his job," Tank said. "That is the job of every single member of the Boston crew for however long you're there."

Now it was my turn to laugh, because if the Boston guys were looking after me while mom and dad were away, one could conclude that Ranger and Tank were mom and dad. It was a disturbing though, but oddly appropriate. "So does that make you mom or dad?" I asked.

Scarface was now staring at me with the furrowed brow of a man who did not understand the conversation he was listening to. Which made sense if he was terrified of Tank. The man didn't let his game face slide with many people, so it was hard for the lowly humans of the world to imagine Tank saying anything humorous.

"Oh, I'm definitely Mom," he assured me. "So who'd they assign you on your first day?"

"Well," I said, settling my rump against the rail that separated the pick up waiting area from the side walk. "That's a complicated question. One that I can't quite answer at the moment."

Tank's change of tone was immediate. Concern hardened his voice. "What do you mean? Have they not arrived yet?"

"No, no," I said. "They're here. I'm looking at one of them right now, and the other is on his way back around with the SUV – _his_ name is Harry. I just can't tell you the name of the Rangeman I'm currently looking at."

My chaperone's already pale face grew even whiter, his eyes widening almost to the size of saucers, which was a surprised, since I was expecting a barrage of unrelenting blank expression for at least the first month. Especially after the initial greeting I'd received from him. Apparently, I just had a knack for disarming Merry Men.

"Why can't you tell me his name?" Tank asked, his voice pitched low. I pictured him becoming eerily still and menacing at his desk, trying to intimidate a man who was two hundred and eighty miles away. I met the man's eyes. It was working.

"He hasn't told me yet," I explained. "Apparently I haven't asked the right question yet."

"Red hair?" Tank said.

"Yep."

"Scar down the right side of his face?"

"That's the one."

"It's Q," Tank informed me.

"Q?"

My mystery man had turned his full attention back to the road, probably thinking that he would be safer if he was minding his own business. When I said his name (letter?) though, his head snapped around so quick and so independently of his body that he reminded me of an owl. He even had the massive eyes like one.

"Short for Question Master," Tank explained. "He won't answer the question he knows you're asking unless you word it the correct way. Something he picked up from his wife."

"His wife?"

I was loving how forthcoming Tank was being with information, but it had nothing on the way Q was starting to perspire. He was literally sweating bullets. This guy could probably withstand hours of torture without giving up a single nugget of information, but having Tank spill his back story to me had him metaphorically shaking in his boots.

"She's an elementary school teacher. Apparently teachers spend their time trying to coax their students to ask the right question by not answering directly," Tank said. "Q picked it up from his wife and refined it into the most annoying habit known to man, but it has its advantages in our line of work."

"I can see how," I agreed.

"His actual name is Trevor," Tank went on. "But he hates it. You might want to tuck that tidbit away for future leverage."

"Duly noted," I said, smiling slightly. Just then a black SUV I recognised instantly as a Rangeman fleet vehicle came around the bend. "Harry's here," I said. "I'll let you get back to comforting the guys."

"I was actually just letting them wallow in it," Tank responded. And then he was gone. No goodbye. No nothing. The phone manners in the company were atrocious.

 _ **Hope you're all enjoying this journey we're on together.**_


	13. Chapter 13

_I have the week off work! And not because I'm sick this time! But while I'd love to just spend the entire week working on this story, I can't guarantee I can devote that much time to it. There's a lot of preparations that need to be done for the eisteddfod this weekend. I will try to get another chapter out for Easter though._

 **Chapter 13**

As Q dragged my luggage toward the trunk and started loading my life into the back of the vehicle, the driver, Harry, slunk out of the front and stood in front of me. There was nothing all that spectacular about him. He was slight by Rangeman standards; just enough muscle to give him that strong, I-could-over-power-you look without tipping into body builder territory. That didn't affect the rate at which his shirt clung to his chest, though. It must be part of the 10 commandments of Rangeman: _Thou shalt show off thine pecs and abs_. Right behind _Thou shalt be hot_ and _Thou shalt stare blankly at all times._ The Trenton guys had been breaking _that_ one for years.

What _was_ remarkable about this Harry guy was his head. Unlike most Merry Men, he sported a full beard, which I'd never been much of a fan of in the past, but on him it worked. That probably had something to do with the hat perched on top of his noggin. It was the kind that business men wore to work in the 1950s: rounded top, short brim. I think it was called a bowler hat?

"Nice hat," I commented by way of greeting, since he seemed content to stand there with his hands in his pockets and stare blankly.

Something that might have been surprise flashed across his eyes before he said simply, "Thanks."

My Burg manners decided to raise their head at that moment, and I found myself introducing myself, even though these guys were sent to pick me up specifically. It seemed stupid, but my upbringing could not be denied at that moment. "I'm Steph, by the way," I said, extending my hand for him to shake. It took him a long moment. Apparently I'd caught him off guard.

"Harry," he said, finally engulfing my hand in his own. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Steph."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. He'd probably change his tune after a few weeks of me traipsing garbage through the building. The Trenton guys never mentioned it, but they were already enamoured with me by the time I found their hang out. They'd built up a tolerance for my constant state of being. The Boston crew would probably need some time to adjust. For now, though, I was willing to accept his gracious greeting.

Before either of us could say anything, Q was commanding us to board the vehicle so we could 'get this show on the road.' Harry gave me a slight nod, his expression still unreadable and opened the back door of the SUV for me to enter. So far, the two men I'd met in Boston were polar opposites, at least in the name provision department. One gave me the ring around, the other extended the olive branch.

Once we were out of the airport and on the highway, I decided to give the men their first taste of Stephanie Plum. In Trenton, I was well known for not shutting up, especially in the car. A habit that had proven to both annoy and amuse. So far, Q and Harry had shown definite traits of not being word wasters. Time to test the waters.

"So Q," I started, receiving a darting look over his shoulder that did nothing to hide the wideness of his eyes. He was still concerned about my conversation with Tank, probably. If he kept up the frustrating non-answers he would probably have reason to. "What grade does your wife teach?"

Each man let out a choked noise, though probably for different reasons. Harry was swivelling his head between Q, the rear view mirror (me) and the road, trying to gauge all three at the same time. Q was staring straight ahead. I'd definitely made an impression.

"You told her about your wife?" Harry asked incredulously.

Q's fists clenched where they rested against his thighs. "No," he ground out. "I didn't."

"Then how does she know?" Harry wanted to know. It might have been amusing if he weren't acting like I wasn't in the car.

"She spoke to Tank," Q explained.

" _Tank_ told her about _your wife_?" Harry asked. "Did he give her background on all of us? That doesn't seem very fair, does it? I mean, she's got the upper hand here. We know nothing about her."

I let out a snort at that. It had to be false. There was no way the Trenton guys didn't tell stories about me. "I don't believe that for a second," I informed them, interrupting their discussion. "I know for a fact that Lester Santos is the biggest gossip in the history of spreading the word. I've caught him telling stories about me in the break room at Rangeman Trenton enough times to know that he'll tell the hilarious tale of when I chased Margaret Snives through a food festival and ended up with every single free sample smeared onto my body and through my hair to just about anyone."

Both men snickered at that before Q piped up, "He said the smell of all the food filling the SUV was so tantalising that he had to grip the steering wheel extra tight to keep from reaching over to pull a corn chip from your hair and using it to scoop up the guac from the side of your neck.

I groaned in embarrassment. I know I'd _expected_ them to have heard all the tales about me, but a small part of me had hoped that they hadn't. It's hard to have a fresh start when everyone around you knows exactly what you're like already. They know my strengths, my weaknesses, and more than likely, my capture rate, right down to the ratio of garbage to non-garbage days I'd had in the last three years. I may have left the Burg behind, but I was pretty sure I'd still be battling preconceived ideas.

"Okay, so we know a bit about you," Harry ventured, adjusting his hat with one hand as he changed lanes. "But only what Lester's told us, which are only the story worthy moments of your life." He paused and glanced briefly at me in the rear view mirror, his blank face still firmly in place. "We don't actually know any personal details of your life, so Tank telling you about Q's wife was unfair."

I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring pointedly at his flickering eyes in the mirror. "Really," I stated, not believing it for a minute. "You know absolutely _nothing_ about my personal life?" The men glanced at each other and shrugged. "Nothing at all?" I prompted. "Nothing about anything that may or may not have happened between me and a certain boss?"

"Oh, that," Q said. "Well, nothing's ever been officially confirmed or denied." He shifted in his seat so he was half turned, looking at me. "I mean, everyone knows Ranger issued a class five protection clause on you, but everything else is just rumour, right? There's no way he'd let a neighbourhood girl like you derail him, right?"

Quick as a flash, Harry's left hand was off the wheel once more and hurtling toward Q in the shape of a fist. Q blocked it easily but wasn't prepared from the attack from behind that came in the form of my nails pinching and digging into the flesh of his earlobe.

"Bro," Harry said, retracting his hand as Q let out a startled cry. "You need to learn to hold your tongue. How many times have you slept on the couch because of some stupid comment you made to Colleen?"

Q glanced from Harry, who had returned to serenely steering the car through traffic, to the rear view mirror where he met my fierce gaze. He might have turned his head to look over his shoulder again, but I still had a hold of his earlobe.

In the back of my mind I was aware that this wasn't exactly the best impression to make. Manhandling my new work colleagues was not on the approved list of greetings for any job, but I needed for this guy, who had already tormented me and insulted me in the half hour I'd now him, to know that I wasn't just some piece of ass that the Trenton Merry Men found amusement in and therefore decided to keep around.

I squeezed a little harder for a second. "This behaviour will not be tolerated," I seethed. "If you have any speculations about my past you keep them to yourself until you can bring them to me to be confirmed or denied. Got it?" He tried to nod. I let go of his ear to aid the action "Good," I said, breathing deeply to calm myself. "I trust you'll inform the rest of the crew."

There was silence in the vehicle for several moments. Q was massaging his earlobe in an attempt to get rid of the fingernail indents I'd left. Harry kept nervously adjusting his hat. I used the time to look out the window and acclimatise myself with a new skyline. The thing about it was it was similar enough that I could almost convince myself I was just in an unfamiliar part of New Jersey It was going to take some getting used to; probably a lot of mental reminders on the subject.

The silence was finally broken as we exited the highway. "So is this your first time in Boston?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I'll need to find a good donut place.

Both men let out a short burst of synchronised laughter. It wasn't the kind that was born of amusement, though. Something told me it was the kind of laughter one used to denote deprecation.

"What?" I asked.

"No refined sugars in the building," Q stated matter-of-factly, grinning from ear to ear.

I shrugged. "I don't need to eat them in the building," I said. It wasn't like I was an addict. I didn't need them to get going in the morning. But I knew I wouldn't be able to survive certain times of the month without them. "But I will need them. And if I don't have them, some men may not live."

Harry glanced in the rear view mirror at me, a single eyebrow raised like he was questioning the seriousness of my statement. Q turned around to also gaze at me, a calculating look in his eye. He stared for a long moment, not saying anything, so I met his scrutiny with as much of a blank stare as I'd ever been able to paint on. Finally, he faced the front of the vehicle once more, meeting Harry's glance when he looked over.

"She's serious," Q confirmed.

"Well," Harry commented, adjusting his hat for the billionth time. "Isn't that terrifying?"

"Incredibly," Q agreed, his tone hollow. "So glad I'm not partnered with her."

"Me too."

They were talking about me as if I wasn't there again, but I found it hard to hold it against them as I began to wonder who I _would_ be partnered with and what kind of personality they would have, whether we'd actually get along. I tended to get along with most guys from Rangeman, but that was back in Trenton, and it was entirely possible that it was a fluke to be able to win over so many guys in the same company. Perhaps I'd exhausted all my luck on them and now I was set to spend a very tense few months with a bunch of men who could barely stand me. That was a bit of a downer, so I decided to do what I did best and deny the thought ever existed by interrupting the back and forth Harry and Q were engaged in regarding whether or not they thought I had the skill or strength to take out a guy without using any weapons.

"So, if I'm not partnered with either of you two, who _am_ I partnered with?" I asked, leaning forward between their seats once more.

Harry glanced at me briefly while Q just subtly shifted his position so that there was an extra couple of millimetres of space between us. I hated to admit it, but after the never ending spiral of questions he'd forced me into, I was enjoying the man's obvious discomfort. Between the fact that I was on excellent speaking terms with Tank – which appeared to be looked on as a mystical ability around these parts – and the bodily harm I had both inflicted and threatened, he was probably very apprehensive about having me in the same building as him.

"No one," Harry informed me when Q decided to stay silent. "Everyone's already paired off. I think Hugh said that you'd just be working with a couple of us at a time to improve our search techniques and maybe filling in where needed."

"So long as I'm being useful," I said easily. "It's probably easier for me to do the job I was sent out here to do if I'm not tied to a partner and bunch of case of my own, right?" I flicked a curl out of my eyes, taking a small delight in the almost imperceptible muscle twitch of Q's bicep, and sat back in my seat. "Besides, this way I get to know more people better."

Harry nodded his agreement and must have felt the need to ensure I felt safe, because he informed me, "Tank made it very clear that we had to treat you like we would treat the queen or there would be serious bodily harm."

I cut my eyes to Q. "The queen, huh?"

Q met my gaze in the mirror with a nonplussed expression. "Tank never said that."

"Huh," I said. "Are you sure, because it definitely sounds like something Tank would say. I once heard him yelling at the newbies to pretend to be Santa Claus when telling them to check their sources again to be sure of them before acting on a tip."

Harry, having cut the engine, turned to face me fully for the first time since we met on the sidewalk at the airport, blinking in confusion. "Every time I hear someone from Trenton talk about Tank he becomes a little more terrifying. I mean, those newbies have probably only just gotten over the fact that Santa Claus isn't real!"

"The man seems to have a mental illness," Q agreed.

At that moment, before I could defend my friend or ask how anyone could determine that he has a mental illness from a story about Tank yelling about Santa, my door was opened and I was greeted by a man in white, disposable coveralls and blue gloves. "Good afternoon, Ms Plum," he greeted. "It's great to finally meet the woman we've all heard so much about. My name is Yetti and I'll be taking care of you as you settle into the building today. I trust your travels were uneventful?"

I looked over my shoulder to Harry and Q and shrugged. "I've had worse days," I confirmed.

"Fantastic," Yetti praised. "We'll let Harold and Mr Question get back to work then. If you could grab your luggage from the rear of the vehicle and follow me to the decontamination chamber."

I'd been clambering out of the back of the vehicle as I watched Harry and Q disappear through a door that I was pretty sure was the stairwell when Yetti's words stopped me in my tracks. "Decontamination chamber?" I asked, snapping my head up to look at my new babysitter. I thought back to Harry's comments about getting me through my checks. I knew I should have opted for the other question.

* * *

 ** _It's so exciting to be up to this point in posting. As you may recall, I am 10 chapters ahead in writing, which means I've been in amongst the Boston Merry Men for a months now, and just itching to share some of the personalities with you._**


	14. Chapter 14

_As it turns out, not being stressed or exhausted from work makes it a lot easier to write. Who'd have thought?! So, as a reward for getting six out of the ten things on my to do list for the week done, I decided to allow myself to sit down and write after dinner. It is now 1am (five hours later) and I present you with a chapter. Not the chapter I just wrote, obviously, because that was chapter 24. But an equally as good chapter 14._

 **Chapter 14**

Yetti helpfully grabbed my suitcase and duffel bag from the back of the SUV leaving me with only my handbag as I followed him across the car park to a small white tent that had been erected in the spaces closest to the elevator that were not reserved for handicapped parking. Inside, he dumped my luggage on a trestle table and turned to take my handbag from my shoulder. I tried to resist, but Yetti just sighed.

"Ms Plum, I assure you that this is all standard procedure," he explained. "All your belongings are safe. I'm not trying to pry. I'm simply ensuring that you're not endangering the lives of my colleagues."

This raised my hackles. They didn't trust me. They thought I was coming here to harm them? That didn't make sense. Hugh had been begging for me to come. Why would I come all this way just to harm a bunch of men I'd never laid eyes on. Especially when I was planning on staying indefinitely at this point. I gripped my handbag a little tighter on my shoulder and took a step back away from the man.

"Don't you think that if there was something in my luggage that could harm you guys that I wouldn't have made it through security at the airport?" I pointed out. I mean, come on! I'd even had to leave me gun and mace at home.

Yetti made an expression with his eyes that might have been an attempt at a compassionate smile, but was really just a terrifying contortion of his facial muscles. "Ma'am, please," he said. "These are more along the lines of health risks than physical threats."

"Don't call me ma'am," I said automatically. Loosening my grip a little, but not stepping any closer for him to be able to reach my bag. "And what kind of health risks are we talking about?"

The man stared at me for a short moment. Long enough for him to take in my entire demeanour, since he was a trained professional, and make a few judgements about my reactions in this conversations, but not long enough for me to notice anything but the light brown, almost yellow colour of his eyes and the way they crinkled a little at the corners. I needed to work on evaluating people quicker. "I'm getting the impression that neither Tank nor Bobby or Lester prepared you for this," Yetti mentioned, finally dropping his hands to his sides as he leaned against the table behind him.

"Prepare me for having my possessions manhandled?" I asked. "No. No they didn't. Should they have?"

Yetti tried his compassionate smile again, but it still wasn't quite making it. He dropped the farce entirely when I inadvertently cringed. "It's been standard operating procedure to check bags and luggage as they enter the building for some seven years now," Yetti explained. "But the core Trenton team makes up here so rarely that I guess it slipped their minds."

"So what exactly will you be checking for?" I asked, trying to give my friends the benefit of the doubt. I'm sure they just forgot. I'd have to ask them about it later though.

"A number of things, really," Yetti explained, unzipping his coveralls enough to retrieve a folded piece of paper from the cargo pocket of his pants. He then proceeded to re-zip and smooth out the paper while he continued speaking. "One of our team members, Bronson, has allergies."

"Allergies?" I questioned, confused. "You mean, like hay fever?"

Yetti shook his head, handing me the sheet of paper. "No," he said. "I mean like anaphylaxis." My face must have been completely devoid of understanding, because he sighed again. "Bronson is severely allergic to a number of things. Some of them to the point where if he comes into contact with it or something that has touched it, he could die."

I couldn't stop the quiet, "Jesus," that slipped past my lips. That was intense. "What kind of things?"

"Peanuts, tree nuts, shell fish, penicillin, latex, and bee stings," he listed all in one breath, without so much as a pause for thought between each. "He's also lactose and gluten intolerant, asthmatic, and diabetic," he added. "But those are far less risky. On that piece of paper you'll find a mug shot of Bronson to familiarise yourself as well as an action plan in case he does have an allergic reaction. He carries an epi pen on him at all times and you will be required to go through anaphylaxis training as part of your inductions." He paused here and eyed me carefully once more. "When did you last do first aid training?" he asked.

"That would be never," I replied.

"We'll do that when we do the anaphylaxis then," he said with a nod before picking up what must have been his previous train of thought. "On the back of the sheet you'll find a list of items that are prohibited in the Boston Rangeman building and vehicles," he said. "There are absolutely no exceptions to these rules. Non-compliance could not only cost you your job, but Bronson his life."

 _Geez_ , I thought, flipping over the sheet and scanning the list. _No pressure._

"I trust you understand that we take the welfare of our colleagues very seriously here, Ms. Plum," Yetti stated, maintaining firm eye contact. "As such, I am required to check your bags for contraband today. Is there anything you'd like to declare?"

Blinking, I said the first thing that made the convoluted path from my brain to my mouth. "Yeah, I left all my good panties at home."

A startled laugh escaped Yetti, but he shook his head. "I suggest you study that list. You'll be checked whenever you return to the building over the next few weeks until we're sure you've got the message." I nodded my understanding, even though somewhere inside my brain was screaming that this was an invasion of my privacy. "Feel free to take a seat while I get this underway," Yetti said, indicating the folding chair set up against the wall.

Another nod and I lowering my ass onto the seat as he unzipped my suitcase. I watched him for a few seconds, carefully removing items and setting them on the table space beside. I had to hand it to the man, it was the most respectful act of invasion of privacy I'd ever born witness to. He stacked my clothes and other various items exactly how he found them in the case after rifling through them delicately. The suitcase contained nothing of incidence, just clothes and shoes mostly. When it came to my duffel back, however, Yetti took one look inside and pulled a trash can I hadn't noticed sitting nearby closer to the table. The first to go was the packet of butterscotch krimpets, straight into the bin. No time for goodbyes or sentimental words of appreciation, just out of the bag and into the can. A packet of Reese's Pieces was next to go, followed by the container of brownies Ella had made me. Tupperware and all.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, unable to sit idly by any longer. "Ella made those for me!"

"Can you guarantee they don't have nuts in them?" Yetti countered, over his shoulder

"No, but I don't think you should just throw away something that someone's put their heart and soul into making for a person," I argued.

Yetti dropped another packet of krimpets into the bin as he turned to face me. "It won't be wasted," he assured me. "All the food confiscated today will be donated to the local church."

Suddenly, my throat was tight and my eyes were stinging. This had been a terrible idea. Why on earth had I decided to leave Trenton and all my friends behind? And now I wouldn't even have Ella's baking to ease the transition. I tried blinking and taking some deep breaths to calm down, but all the emotions of the last week along with the stress and exhaustion of travelling had caught up with me. Against my will to prove to this new lot of men that I was more than just an emotional wreck of a woman running from her crazy ex, I felt hot tears tracking down my face. I tried to swipe them and away and sniff back the snot that was beginning to move without Yetti noticing, but it was a futile attempt. I was a pretty ugly crier and the men Ranger employed were way too observant for me to get away with anything.

"Please don't cry, Ms Plum," Yetti pleaded. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just following company policy."

I shook my head vigorously, trying to use the action to assure him that it wasn't all his fault. Given the week I'd had it was amazing I hadn't broken down before now. It wasn't his fault that doing his job was the straw that broke this camel's back. "Sorry," I groaned several seconds later, interrupting his search for a tissue or a handkerchief as he continued to plead with me to stop. "It's not your fault. I'm just a bit out of sorts at the moment. It's been a long week."

"I'm sure it has been, Ms Plum," he agreed, standing beside me with his hands hanging limp by his side. "Given the rapid transfer, we assumed you were getting away from a threat."

I rolled my eyes, but was grateful that Tank had had the decency to not spread my horror break up with Joe around the Boston office. "Something like that," I agreed.

An awkward silence descended on us after that and I took the opportunity to dig an old napkin out of my handbag. Once I'd cleared up the worst of the damage, Yetti cleared his voice, dragging my attention all the way up to meet his gaze yellow gaze. That attempted compassionate expression was back again, but this time it was a little closer to hitting the mark. Clearly he didn't have to fake it quite so much as he did earlier. He had a soft spot for women in distress.

"I hate to do this," he said, "But I really do need to check your handbag for contraband."

I nodded shortly, holding it out to him without a word. It took no time at all for him to confiscate the half eaten Krispy Kreme I'd been saving and the peanut butter sandwich Lester had packed for my lunch. With the contaminants removed and the lid secured on the trash can, Yetti removed his coveralls and gloves and shoved them into a separate trash can, revealing those Rangeman standard issue abs under his skin tight black tee. He handed me a packet of wet wipes and a tooth brush.

"You'll need to cleanse your hands and face each time you return to the building," he explained. "And brush your teeth if you've eaten while you were out."

*o*

Once I'd jumped through all the necessary hoops to gain access to the elevator and therefore the rest of the building, along with my slightly depleted luggage, Yetti lead me to the fourth floor and the small apartment I would be calling home for the foreseeable future. It appeared exactly as I'd assumed it would; a carbon copy of those back in Trenton. There was a kitchenette with a fridge full of staples and small table, a two seater sofa facing a decent size flat screen, a serviceable bathroom and a bedroom complete with double bed and maybe just enough closet space for the amount of clothes I'd brought.

Yetti left me at the door, handing over a familiar key fob and reminding me that Hugh expected be to be standing in front of him at ten hundred hours tomorrow and not a second later. He had offered to give me a tour of the building so I'd know where to go in the morning, but once he'd admitted that the layout was almost identical to that of the Trenton building, we'd both agreed that it seemed unnecessary.

With the door closed and locked behind him, I'd just kicked off my shoes and sprawled out on the bed in my thinking position when my cell rang. All the way out in the kitchenette where I'd left it and rest of my belongings. I considered letting it ring out, in favour of rolling over and taking nap, but the thought didn't last long. It was probably one of the guys checking up on me like they'd promised to do. So, with a heavy sigh, I hefted myself back off the bed, scooping the mess of curls that had escaped the ponytail out of my face and padded on socked feet back through the small space to my hand bag.

By the time I'd dug it out of the bottom of the bag – how did always and up at the very bottom? – it had stopped ringing, instead displaying the notification that I had one missed call. Before I had a chance to check who it was from, though, the device was ringing and buzzing in my hand. A completely unflattering photo of Lester's grinning face appeared on the screen and I didn't hesitate to drag the green button across to accept the call.

"Hey Les," I greeted, putting the phone to my ear and affecting a cheery tone as I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and dragged it to the bedroom. If I wasn't going to nap I may as well get some unpacking done while I chatted.

"Hey Beautiful," he enthused. "How are you settling in?"

"Everything's great," I lied.

In all honesty, I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of protocols I had to adhere to in order to simply enter the building. Not to mention I was hardcore mourning the loss of Ella's brownies I'd been looking forward to them the entire flight and now they were gone.

A noise came across the line that sounded like a voice in the background, but I couldn't make out what they were saying, or if it even pertained to me.

"I'm talking to her now," Lester replied to the voice. Another muffled run of wordless noise from Mr. Background. "I'm getting there, dude," Lester said sounding exasperated as I unzipped the case and flipped it open. "We've literally only just said hi." And the he was back to addressing me. "Hang on, Beautiful," he said. "I'm gonna go hide in the supply closet so we can have some privacy." There was a series of grunts and a couple of rattles followed by a loud click before Lester sighed. "Right," he said. "Where were we?"

"Are you seriously in the supply cupboard right now?" I asked, picturing the small cupboard on the fifth floor where excess stationery supplies were kept. I didn't think my nieces would have fit inside while it was still stocked, let alone a fully grown man with an above average muscle bulk.

"Of course I am," he retorted. "Isn't it tradition to call your friend from camp from inside a closet?"

"I'm not on camp," I pointed out.

Lester let out a snort. "Feels like it," he said. "I remember my first camp. My mama had loaded up my backpack with enough treats to get me through two weeks' worth of meals without ever having to step foot inside the mess all, but the moment we arrived we were all lined up and told to empty out all our bags while the camp counsellors came along and confiscated everything. Right down to the three year old jelly bean that had been rolling around at the bottom of my bag."

I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn't see me and started using my free hand to load clothes into the dresser. "Yetti contacted you?" I asked. It was the obvious explanation to Lester suddenly reflecting on this particular childhood memory. Yetti had contacted Lester and told him about my breakdown and now Lester was calling to make sure I was alright. I might have been touched by Yetti's concern if it weren't for the fact that people were once again talking about me behind my back. It seemed that it was not a phenomenon exclusive to the Burg. Apparently someone had sold the rights to my story to the public without letting me know and now my entire life was fair gain. Everyone would be talking about me no matter what for the rest of my days.

"He did," Lester acknowledged, interrupting my scornful thoughts and making me realise that I was standing frozen in the middle of the bedroom with a single boot in one hand. "But we're talking about me right now," he added, catching me off guard.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said in a mock apologetic tone as I set the boot on the bed and proceeded to retrieve the pile of pants that had been hiding underneath it in the suitcase. "I didn't realise you'd called me to talk about your childhood camp experiences."

"I can't help it," Lester said, and he must have shifted inside his closet, because there was a rattle followed by a crash and soft swear. "Thinking about your first day at camp made me nostalgic."

"I'm not at camp," I repeated. Last I checked, thirty-five year old women did not go on camps. The outdoorsy types might go on _camping trips_ , but unless they were a Girl Guide leader, I hadn't heard of a camp that allowed grown adults to attend unless it was the hippie love or marriage revitalisation kind. And I certainly wasn't in the market for either of those.

"Boot camp," Lester said solemnly. "You'll understand after a few days. Hugh is very by the books."

"Great," I drawled, opening the closet and beginning to line up my shoes in the bottom. "More rules."

Lester let out a slight chuckle. "You'll be okay, Beautiful," he assured me. "You'll have them all wrapped around your little finger in no time."

I plopped down onto the end of the bed and picked up the sheet of paper I'd discarded earlier. "Lester," I said seriously. "They took away at least two of my main food groups."

"Sugar and fat?" Lester tried to guess.

"Sugar and _Peanut Butter,"_ I corrected. "Who the hell takes away a woman's peanut butter?"

"Ohh," Lester breathed. "Right. Bronson. I forgot."

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Well, now everything's starting to make _way_ more sense," he informed me. "Yetti was worried about your unhealthy attachment to a box of brownies, but it's more than that, isn't it? You're looking at a future without any of the things you're familiar with. You're wondering why you even agreed to this. Why you agreed to uproot your life and discard all you hold dear in order to help a bunch of men you don't even know," he explained, succinctly summing up my thoughts and feelings since arriving. I'd contemplated just walking out the front door of the building and hailing a cab to take me back to the airport. But then I'd have to deal with my life back in Trenton, and as much as I didn't want to acknowledge that I was currently running away from my problems, I knew I was. If I wasn't, I'd still be back in Trenton, gritting my teeth every time I entered a public place.

"You're doing the right thing," Lester assured me into the silence we'd allowed to lapse. "You need the time to recharge your sense of self in an environment that isn't going to tear you down every time you step outside."

"You don't think I'm running away from my problems?" I asked, unsure.

Lester scoffed. "If anything you've run away to _more_ problems," he said. "The Boston crew all have sticks up their butts. If you thought the Trenton crew was up tight when you first met us, you're in for a wild ride with those B-"

"AAHH!" Suddenly, a very loud, very male shout carried down the line, making me jump so dramatically that I almost fell off the bed. "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, SANTOS!" it continued, and I wasn't entirely sure, but it sounded like Hal. "WHY THE FUCK ARE IN THE CLOSET?"

"Just waiting for the right moment to come out of it," Lester replied calmly, though I could hear the grin in his voice.

"Everyone already knows about you and Bobby," the voice said, a little less loud, but still just as agitated. I could only imagine how fast his heart must be racing at this point.

* * *

 ** _I won't post until I've written another chapter. Maintaining my ten chapter lead gives my a real sense of accomplishment and allows me to think through my decisions a little more than usual. Maybe one day I'll have an entire story written before I start posting, but for now, I'll stick with my ten chapters._** ** _Hopefully my muse keeps up this run and I can get another chapter out this week._**


	15. Chapter 15

_Last night, when I went to resume writing after dinner, as has been my custom this week, I instead made a plot decision which lead to a discussion with my bestie (and partner in crime) and the plotting of the rest of the story. I've pretty much had the plot figured out from the beginning (which is more than I can say for a lot of stories I've posted in the past, they usually start in one place and end up somewhere completely different than originally intended) and while my plot party last night did not change any of the details it was good to go through them with my bestie's input to poke and prod at it._

 _And I'm super excited about chapter 25. *grinny face*_

 **Chapter 15**

The food staring back at me from the inside of the refrigerator and pantry was doing nothing to inspire my stomach. It was all green, and healthy looking and I had no idea what to do with it. If I was at home I would have just grabbed the bread – even though it was some almost unrecognisable healthy kind – and slapped some peanut butter on it. I'd been living on peanut butter and take out for most of my adult life. But there was no peanut butter here. Not smooth. Not crunchy. Not anything. The best I could think of to do with the items I was faced with was make a salad, but salads weren't real food.

My stomach growled loudly and angrily as I moved to search the freezer as well, hoping for a TV dinner, or a premade casserole that I could just throw in the microwave, but there was no luck there either. The packets of steam fresh vegetables looked reasonable: just stick the packet in the microwave and hit go. A meal of just steamed vegetables didn't sound too appealing either, though, and as I closed the freezer and turned to inspect the pantry closer the protesting of my stomach became so violent that it was starting to get painful. I had to find something to eat soon or I was going to die right here on the kitchenette floor, consumed by my own organs.

I was just reading the back of a box of bran cereal and resigning myself to breakfast for dinner when there was a knock at the door. As I crossed the ten paces to see who it was, I couldn't decide whether I was grateful for the interruption or not. On the one hand, cereal for dinner seemed like a life fail, but on the other, delaying the feeding of my beast was physically uncomfortable.

The man standing in the hall when I opened the door was dressed in the familiar black on black Rangeman uniform but that was where the familiarity ended. He wasn't Harry, Q, or Yetti and therefore I didn't recognise him. He was fairly nondescript, with brown hair and eyes and a skin tone that suggested he spent a lot of time in the sun. His most remarkable feature was his height. Taller than Tank. Taller than anyone I'd ever met. And I'd met a lot of people in my thirty five years of life.

"Ms. Plum?" he questioned, like there were a number of women who had just arrived today and he was making sure he'd found the right one. I had no doubt that every single one of the men in the building knew exactly who I was and which apartment I'd been assigned to. His questioning tone was a courtesy to me.

"That's me," I confirmed, rather than point out the obvious. He was trying to polite, and after a lifetime in the Burg where politeness was thrown out the window as soon as there was some juicy gossip to pass around, it was actually kind of refreshing.

"A bunch of us are heading out for some dinner," he explained. "We were wondering if you wanted to join us."

Just like always, in times of great desperation, my stomach called out at the mention of food. Loudly. Embarrassingly. I laid a hand on the outspoken monster and tried not to blush. _This is me_ , I reminded myself. They were going to find out about it eventually so it may as well be now. If I couldn't be myself here I couldn't be myself anywhere. "That'd be great," I replied after a moment. "I'll just grab my bag and shoes."

I left the door open as I shoved my feet back into my sneakers and hoisted my handbag off the countertop. The unnamed Merry Man simply stood in the hallway exactly where he was when I opened it, waiting. "You can call me Steph, by the way," I called to him, lacing up my shoes. "That Ms Plum thing you guys have going on is gonna get old real fast."

"I'm Tree," he replied.

"Tree as in-"

"Tree as in Tree, yes," he said with a slight smile. "It was either that or Bean Pole."

"Right," I said, stepping out into the hall and making sure I had my key fob before pulling the door closed behind me. "I suppose if you get to pick your nickname, you may as well go with the one that's the least offensive to you."

He nodded his agreement, but didn't say anything as we started down the hall toward the elevator. My stomach was singing the song of its people, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since the plane trip. Tree was polite enough not to mention it, or even smirk about it or anything like that. Then again, he didn't say a single word as we made our way to the garage, so it's possible he'd slipped into some kind of zone and wasn't actually aware of my stomach's protests, since it was definitely not a threat to him.

Men were milling about around and between the cars closest to the elevator doors when they opened, talking loudly and excitedly. The sound was comforting in its familiarity. I came from a loud family and was used to being around the Trenton guys who were always loud, except in cases of extreme emergency, so the din that these men were creating proved to sooth my nerves. After Yetti's speech about the strict conditions of entry, and Q's insistence that he wouldn't answer my question until I phrased it just right, I was concerned that the majority of the men would be too uptight to be able to break loose once in a while and act human. It had taken me a while to crack the Trenton Merry Men, and from what I'd seen of this lot today, I wasn't going to get my hopes up that I could have the kinds of easy relationships with them that I'd created with _my_ guys. The scene in the garage, though, showed promise. Maybe they weren't as uptight as they first appeared.

"Hey!" they all called out as one in greeting as Tree and I approached.

"Hey," I replied with a little finger wave.

"Everyone here?" someone called from the back of the group. I couldn't quite see him through the see of black-clad men before me, but his voice was deep and sonorous. "Raise your hand if you buddy's not here."

No one raised their hands, but I took a moment to glance up at Tree. "I don't have a buddy," I said. "Do I?"

"You're my buddy for the purposes of today," he replied quietly.

"All right," the deep voiced guy called out. "Let's roll out."

With the instruction given, everyone started splitting off into vehicles, filling each to the brim. It was the smoothest operation I'd ever seen. No one argued. No one pushed. It was as if everyone already had an assigned spot. They moved in so seamlessly that it was almost dance like. If I'd been in Trenton, not only would half of the men have already left before the rest of us made it down stairs, but those that met up would be almost fighting each other for a spot in the SUV of their choice.

Tree gently gripped my elbow and urged me toward the third SUV down the line where he pointed me toward the front passenger door while he went around to the driver seat. I'd just settled into my seat and buckled up by the time Tree was backing out of the space and following the convoy of about four other cars out the gate. He didn't glance back or ever check the rear view mirror before he started rattling off introductions.

"In the back we have Barrel, Shock and Lock," he said, gesturing in a vague sort of left-middle-right kind of way as he said their names to indicate which was which, and I turned around in my seat in order to put the names with the faces. The fact that he knew who was where without looking back made me wonder if there was assigned seating inside the SUV or if he'd just taken stock of the men in the back while I wasn't paying attention to him. "Barrel is our gun specialist," Tree went on, navigating the streets with ease. "He manages the gun range and presents for any sniper detail we may have. My guess is you'll be seeing each other at least once a week while you're here."

I nodded to Barrel in greeting. "I apologise in advance," I said solemnly. "I've been working hard with Junior back in Trenton, but I'm a terrible student."

Barrel shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sure you'll be fine," he said.

"Shock is in the middle," Tree explained, pulling up to a red light and glancing over at me, presumably to make sure I was paying attention, not that I could think of anything else that I would be paying attention to at this point. "He gets his name from the way his eyebrows make me him look like he's perpetually in a state of shock."

I eyed the eyebrows in question and had to agree with the sentiment. They were so high up on his forehead and so bushy that it was hard not to think he was trying to subtly make a point, but it wasn't just the eyebrows that contributed to shocked expression. His eyes were huge. The overall effect remind me of my childhood and my mother's expression whenever we were out and I said or did something that didn't fit with her Perfect Burg Daughter profile. Like she couldn't believe I'd actually done whatever it was and was letting me know that I would definitely be hearing about it the second we were safely ensconced in the privacy of her car.

"And Lock," Tree said, moving on to the final member of our carpool.

"Let me guess," I interrupted. "Really good at picking locks?"

At this, all four of the men let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, god no," Barrel said after a few seconds. "He _wishes_ it was because of his lock picking skills. Which are actually extremely average, by the way."

Grinning from ear to ear, and revealing an expression so puzzling that I didn't actually know how to classify it, Shock nudged the man beside him and prompted, "Tell her why you're called Lock."

Lock just sighed, shaking his head as he stared diligently at a spot on the back of my seat about six inches below where my chin was resting on the shoulder. "I got locked in a budgie cage while out on my first capture with the company," he said sullenly. "And they haven't let me live it down since."

I couldn't help the laugh that burbled up and escaped my throat. It was the kind of misfortune that was usually reserved especially for me, although I had to admit, it was probably a bit cleaner than my fumbles. "They could have gone with Budgie," I pointed out, unable to fully squash my lingering giggles. Learning the back stories of the Merry Men was always an experience. They were either the most mundane explanations of their everyday life, or completely outrageous. There was no in between.

"Please don't encourage them," Lock requested. "It's bad enough that they bring out the recording of my SOS phone call every Christmas."

I shook my head. He clearly didn't like his nickname, which was unfortunate when faced with the kinds of men Ranger tended to employ. Once they found a nickname for you they clung to it like it was the last piece of floating debris in the ocean after the Titanic had sunk.

"I don't have to call you Lock if you don't want me to," I told him. "I've been the recipient of a plethora of nicknames over the years, some of them more tolerable than others, so I know where you're coming from. I mean, I was dubbed the Bombshell Bounty Hunter in the paper once and the guys in Trenton have been calling me Bomber ever since. I think I know what I'm talking about."

"Lock is fine," Lock assured me. "I'm used to it now, I just hate when we have to talk about my origin story."

"Preach," I said, holding up a hand, because didn't I know everything there was to know about people talking about my life for fun and sport? It was the whole reason I was here after all.

Turning back around in my seat to face forward, I had just enough time to notice we were in a more rundown area of town before Tree was pulling into a pothole ridden parking lot behind the SUVs we'd probably been following the entire way. I looked to the building we were lining up in front of, expecting to find some variety of pizza parlour, but instead, I was greeted with a diner whose façade appeared to have stepped straight out of the 1950s.

"A diner?" The words were out of my mouth before I could even think to stop them.

"This is the location of choice for offsite dining," Shock informed me. "Best burgers in town. And as an added bonus, Yetti's Uncle Suzan owns the joint, so Rangemen get a five percent discount."

* * *

 ** _The Eisteddfod is tomorow and Saturday, so it will probably be a few days before I post again even if I do manage to get some writing done while sitting in the audience like I usually do. Wish me luck! I'm feeling really good about this year._**


	16. Chapter 16

_A rather successful competition weekend all wrapped up. A day and a half of sleep to recover, and no less than three attempts at writing Chapter 26 and I'm ready to post another chapter for my lovely followers._

 **Chapter 16**

When I entered the small diner, following in Tree's wake, the space was filled with the same kind of scene I'd encountered upon stepping off the elevator; men mingling and talking loudly and animatedly to each other. It struck me as off, but I couldn't quite figure out why. I'd seen the guys back in Trenton in exactly this kind of state more times than I could count. They'd been at ease with each other and their surroundings when they knew they were in the safety of the building or even in the relative security of Shorty's. The Boston crew appeared to be no different. They laughed, jeered, chatted and generally got on like regular people, but something about it didn't fit into the puzzle space I had for them in my head.

It wasn't until Q brushed past me where I'd stopped in the doorway, and I was hit with a wave of annoyance at the run around he'd given me with his name earlier that I remembered Lester's words of warning that the Boston crew all had sticks up their butts. That they were very by the books and like to do things in an orderly fashion. I could see that coming through in the way they organised themselves to carpool over here, but I didn't really think the same could be said about the rest of the interactions I'd witnessed. Lester made it sound like they were a bunch of robots with less emotions than the Trenton guys had had when I first met them, but if anything, they had displayed more animation in the last four hours than I had seen from the men in Trenton in the first three months of knowing them.

It was certainly a conundrum, but I didn't have a chance to puzzle over it any longer, because Tree had doubled back from wherever he'd made it to before he realised I wasn't behind him and was now steering me by the elbow toward a booth in the middle of the restaurant.

After years of dining with Ranger and his men and always having them insist on at least half of them having their backs to the wall, sitting at a table with people on all sides didn't feel right. Especially since, if I squinted my eyes to fuzz out their faces I could almost pretend these were the same guys I'd known for ages. When I looked around, though, I noticed that there were only a handful of seats that allowed a person to sit with their back to a wall, and every single seat in the house was taken up by a Rangeman employee. I suppose if we were going to take over the whole diner it wasn't such a big deal to sit out in the open, since there were people constantly looking in all directions to watch your back.

"Alright, alright, pipe down," someone called out, instantly silencing the men. One second the diner was filled with booming laughter and almost yelling voices as they all stood scattered around, the next there was no noise in the joint but for the distant clangs of pots and pans in the kitchen, and the only person standing was man with perfectly styled blonde hair, and piercing green eyes. I guess we were supposed to pay attention to him now.

"I'd like to take this opportunity to formally welcome Ms Stephanie Plum to the ranks of the Boston Rangeman crew," he explained, gesturing toward where I sat. The men gave a brief, almost unison, whooping cheer, before quieting down once more. "Ms. Plum comes to us from Trenton where she has been working in tandem with the crew there on and off for a few years and is on loan to us to teach us a thing or two about doing background searches." He paused a moment, but no one said anything. "As the core team will already be aware, we have been issued a serious warning. We are to look after Ms. Plum as if she were one of our own or face the wrath of Tank."

A collective hiss rent the silence surrounding me. A surprising reaction. I glanced around as subtly as I was able to find looks of fear and abject horror. I thought about Tank, and sure, he could be intimidating when he wanted to be, but really, he was nothing but a teddy bear. He had five cats, for Christ sake. I'd seen him caring for them in the last couple of months, and now that I'd seen how tender he could be with the small creatures, I found it almost impossible to imagine being scared of him.

Slipping my phone out of my pocket under the table, I typed a quick text to the man in question asking why the Boston crew was so scared of him. I was just about to hit send when I heard my name mentioned in whatever the man was saying. My head snapped up so hard it dislodged a lock of hair that had been only tenuously held within the hair tie.

Everyone was looking at me. Expectantly.

"Uhh," I uhhhed. I was sure my face was showing how confused I was. I could feel my mouth hanging open. "Wh-what was that?" I finally asked, avoiding looking at the tiny smile on Tree's face right in front of me, instead making eye contact with the blonde man who had been addressing the group.

"I asked if you could tell us a little bit about yourself," he repeated. I might have been mistaken because I'm not familiar with the man, but I could have sworn there was a sprinkling of impatience in his tone. There was certainly no hints to his mood on his face. Like most Merry Men he'd graduated his basic training with the ability to keep his emotions locked away behind a blank mask.

"Oh," I uttered. Glancing down at my phone long enough to hit send and slip it back into my pocket before standing up and moving into a position where I could see as many of the men filling the diner as possible. "Well, I'm not sure how much I can tell you all that you probably haven't heard from Lester Santos, so, uh, do you guys have any questions?"

"That's a terrible idea," the blonde guy said, coming to stand beside me and glaring pointedly at the men who appeared to be preparing to raise their hands. Like this was school, or a forum, or something. He turned to me, his expression turning blank again and whispered, "Ms. Plum, I appreciate you trying to be open with us, but the men have already been instructed not to pry into your life or comment behind your back. I suggest you tell us all a few facts about yourself."

"I appreciate your concern," I replied, trying to keep my tone even and my face impassive. "But I wasn't aware I was supposed to bring along a short synopsis to share with the group this evening, and I thought I could just settle some of the curiosity I know they have."

He raised an eyebrow at me, but it wasn't the same kind of amused or questioning eyebrow I was used to getting from the Trenton guys. This eyebrow seemed to be telling me that opening up this can of worms would be my funeral. "As you wish," he muttered, stepping back and addressing the room once more. "Proceed with your questions," he said, in a tone that was probably reminding them all that their asses would be handed to them if they so much as thought about toing the line.

As one, every single hand in the room shot into the air. I sucked in a breath as I took in the view, apprehension curling slowly in my guts. Had I made the right decision by allowing them to satisfy their curiosity? Or was this going to come back and bite me on the ass? I could only imagine the stories they'd heard about me. I'd done a lot of stupid shit in my time. Letting out the breath I'd been holding, I pointed to one of the men at the table closest to me. I didn't know his name, so I couldn't call on him, but he got the message and stood to ask his question.

"What's your favourite movie?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye as he glanced over at the blonde.

Once again, I was caught off guard. I certainly wasn't expecting the kinds of questions you'd find on a social media page, but it was definitely a relief. "Ghostbusters," I replied with a grin. The man nodded and sat back down. No follow up questions. I guess this was going to be easier than I thought.

I pointed to someone else close by, unable to look past the first row of faces just yet.

The man I curly hair tied back in a ponytail. "Marvel or DC?" he asked.

"I'm not sure I understand," I replied politely. I'd heard the terms thrown around in conversations before, but never really thought about them or stopped long enough to ask what they referred to.

"Do you prefer Marvel or DC?" he elaborated. "Marvel comics created characters such as Thor, Iron Man, Hulk, the X-Men. DC is responsible for Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman."

Well that made my answer a little simpler. I didn't know anything much about the Marvel characters other than that the actors who played them in movies were incredibly hot. "DC," I replied. "When I was seven I jumped off the garage roof trying to fly like Superman."

Appreciative laughter filled the diner the man sat back down and I pointed to the next person. They stood and had just opened their mouth to ask the question on their mind, a voice came from behind me, gruff and cranky sounding, making me jump.

"I've got a question," the voice stated, and I turned to see an older man in a white shirt and apron. His eyes were a brown so pale they were almost yellow and surrounded by the kinds of crow's feet that one gets from smiling a lot. Between that and the similarities in accent, I decided that this was probably Yetti's Uncle Suzan. A glance at the name tag attached to his shirt confirmed this. "Are you lot gonna order, or are you just gonna take up all my tables and run my business into the ground?"

My stomach, never one to miss a cue, grumbled loudly, a noise that echoed through the diner, drawing all eyes back to me. I'd be embarrassed, but it would be pointless. I'd spent my entire life apologising for my stomach's inopportune vocals. If I was to get embarrassed every single time, I'd be embarrassed at least seventy percent of the time. These men were going to be spending every day in my presence, they'd be hearing my stomach regardless of how well I kept it full, so they needed to get over it and get used to it.

"I'll order," I confirmed, spinning around to grab a menu off the counter behind me. I opened it without even looking, making eye contact with Uncle Suzan. "What do you recommend for a Jersey girl who hasn't eaten all day?"

Uncle Suzan stared at me for a moment, his jaw working, the pencil he held in one hand tapping idly against the order pad in the other. "Do you have any allergies or dietary requirements?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Anything you won't eat? Don't like the taste of?" he added, still staring directly into my eyes.

"No, I'll eat pretty much anything you put down in front of me," I assured him.

He gave a short nod, his crow's feet deepening as he smiled. "You leave it with me, love," he said. "I'll get you fed well." And with that he turned on his heel and disappeared through the doorway that lead back to the kitchen amid the loud protests of the men filling every seat in the joint. Suzan stopped and turned around long enough to glare them all back into silence. "Sue will be out in a moment to get your orders," he said sternly. "If Jaws says we have to look after this woman like one of our own, then I'm going to look after her like one of my own."

I closed up the menu, and returned to my table while the men resumed their grumbling at a lower volume. Guilt was attempting to grip me, but I reminded myself that I hadn't asked the man to make me something special and ignore the men. He'd chosen to do that all on his own. It wasn't my fault.

My phone pinged, notifying me of a text message and I jumped at that distraction. I didn't need to be thinking about the possibility of these guys blaming me for their delayed food.

 _Tank: "A well timed rampage."_

Shaking my head I tapped out a reply.

 _Me: "They all act like you're the bogeyman as soon as you're mentioned. They clearly haven't seen the way you clean out Ambrose's ears."_

"I have a question," the man beside me announced as I put the phone back away again.

"Try me," I encouraged.

"What's the deal with all the Trenton guys loving you so much?" he asked, leaning an elbow on the table as he turned his upper body to examine me. My spine stiffened in response. I'd just escaped Trenton where I'd been accused of entertaining the entire Rangeman crew in my bed. Please tell me that these men weren't going to go there as well. If I couldn't get away from the gossip and accusations here, three states away, I doubted I could get away from it anywhere. "We got no less than twelve memos threatening bodily harm if we didn't treat you right," the man explained. "Some from men we _know_ are nothing more than pussy cats in tiger's clothing."

What kind of question was that to ask a person? It's not like I could control who likes me and doesn't like me. It's not like I told the men to make sure the Bostonites didn't give me a hard time. They'd done it all of their own free will. I'd never been anything but myself with the guys. And having grown up with the toxic environment created by my mother's lack of support for my budding personality as a child, I'd endeavoured to allow the men to be themselves without judging them. And if that made them 'love' me or whatever you like to call the friendships I'd formed with the Trenton Rangemen, then so be it.

"I don't know," I told the man honestly, meeting his gaze, even though all I wanted to do was stare at the table. "It's not like I treat them special or anything. I treat them the same way I treat anyone else who treats me decently."

"And what about you and Ranger?" Tree asked. "Are you… I mean… is he…?"

It was inevitable that I'd be asked about Ranger and how we fit together, or perhaps didn't fit together. And to be honest, my answer was the same as the previous one. In the five weeks between my break up with Morelli and his departure from the land of the traceable, he hadn't given me any solid indications that he was interested in me for a relationship, but the almost absent minded kissing that had been present intermittently throughout the entire time I'd known him, had started to slowly make a reappearance. The last time I'd gotten back together with Joe and realised that it was a lot more serious than any of the others, Ranger had graciously instilled a no unnecessary touching rule in an effort to respect the growth my and Joe's relationship. Apparently the dramatic demise of the engagement had left the window open for him to give in to his urge to touch. But no move had be made.

"If you're going to ask me my relationship status with the big boss, I think you'll find that it's incredibly ambiguous," I stated on a sigh. "I just got out of a pretty bad relationship not long ago," I added. "It had a pretty epic and public fall out and I'm not really looking for anything at the moment. In fact, it's kind of the reason I'm here."

Tree looked like he had a follow up question, but didn't get the chance to ask it as a plate was set down in front of me. On it was a burger piled high with various salads, sauce oozing out the side, and a side of curly fries. My mouth was watering at the very sight of it, my stomach rumbling an agreement. It smelled amazing. It looked amazing. And I sincerely hoped it was going to taste amazing.

"Eat up, Jersey Girl," Suzan instructed. "Before that stomach of yours breaks loose and consumes us all."

Glancing around my small table of colleagues, I realised that none of them had even ordered yet, and I felt a little bad about starting to eat while they had no food in front of them. I'd been raised to be considerate, if nothing else, and chomping into this delicious looking burger in front of them didn't feel very considerate. "I-," I started, but Uncle Suzan cut me off.

"Don't worry about these knuckleheads," he said gruffly. "They'll survive watching you eat."

So I took a large bite, savouring the mix of textures as they entered my mouth and swiping away the sauce the dripped down my chin in the process. There was no way I would have been able to stop the moan that sprang forth. It always happened when the food was good, no matter how many times I'd eaten the same thing. It was completely unavoidable. "Oh, God," I mumbled around my mouthful, my eyes drifting closed as I chewed. "That's so good."

A throat clearing broke my trance and my eyes fluttered open again to find all the men at my table shifting in their seats, actual expressions of discomfort on their faces. _Whoops_ , I thought. I hadn't caused _that_ effect on anyone in quite a while. The Trenton Merry Men had grown used to it, or at the very least had trained themselves to hide their reactions much better.

"Sorry," I said, swallowing the first mouthful as I felt my face heating. "I, uh, can't really help it."

"It's fine by me," Uncle Suzan assured me, with a light pat on the shoulder. "It sounds like high praise, which is what I like to hear."

The guy beside me cleared his throat again, this time to grab Suzan's attention. "You taking orders yet?" he asked.

"Only if you're using your manners," Suzan replied, raising a challenging eyebrow at him even as he retrieved his pad and pencil from his apron pocket.

"Could I get milkshake?" I asked around my second bite of burger. "Chocolate?"

Suzan looked at me like I'd grown a second head for a second, but then nodded with that same smile from earlier. "One chocolate milkshake for the Jersey Girl," he confirmed, making a note on his pad. He cut his eyes to the men I was dining with. "What about you lot?"

* * *

 _ **Back to work tomorrow, so posting will probably slow down again, but I'll try to make sure I at continue working on the story, even if it's in little spurts.**_


	17. Chapter 17

_I don't currently have the brain capacity for inserting any kind of content here. I used it all up on writing a chapter._

 **Chapter 17**

The evening spent with the Boston Rangemen at Suzan's diner was enjoyable, in an impromptu-get-to-know-everyone-all-at-once kind of way. I'd met a considerable number of men, which would probably help with transitioning into their workplace. But I simply could not see how Lester could peg them as a bunch of stick up the butt killjoys, which was the impression he'd given me during our earlier conversations. Apart from the fact that they seemed super organised and did things in an orderly manner, they appeared to be just as chill outside of work as the Trenton guys were.

There was, of course, the fact that I had not experienced any of their personalities in the work environment yet, but I was hopeful that they wouldn't be as bad as Lester said.

While the majority of the men were chatting and relaxing amongst themselves after finishing their meals, I made my way over to counter where Suzan was refilling condiment bottles.

"How was your milkshake?" he asked as I slid onto the stool in front of him, and opened a menu on the counter in front of me.

I smiled appreciatively at Suzan. "Best I've had in a long time," I assured him, glancing back down at the menu, in particular the desserts section. "What are the chances of me getting a slice of cake?" I asked.

"For you?" Suzan asked, setting aside the bottles and wiping his hands on his apron. "One hundred percent. What kind?" he added, moving over to the cake display.

I shrugged, closing the menu and folding my hands on top of it. "I usually go for generic birthday cake, or pineapple upside down cake," I informed him. "But honestly, if it's cake, I'll probably eat it."

"Cake?" a voice said from behind me shoulder. I turned to find Harry standing there, his bowler hat still in place. "You've already had a shake and now you're having cake as well?"

"Is there a problem with that?" I asked, trying not to sound defensive. It was no secret that I had a massive sweet tooth and I was aware of the kinds of effects the amount of sugar I consumed had on a body, but I was also aware of the effects if I cut all that sugar out of my life, and given that these men were new acquaintances, I didn't think it would be appropriate for them to see me in such a state. Plus, after viewing the list of banned foods and experiencing what happened when I tried to bring banned food into the building, I felt like I needed to load up on sugar while I still could. That and I was predicting a very bland breakfast.

"Well, I'm just thinking about the workout you're gonna need to do to work it off," Harry said. "The shake alone is more than an hour on the treadmill. And then there's the cake. Depending on which one you get and how big the slice is it could be anywhere up to-"

Suzan set a plate down in front of me with such force I thought it might crack. "Harry, because I like you, I'm going to give you a piece of advice," he said, his yellow eyes piercing. "Never _ever_ get between a woman and her cake. It doesn't matter how long it will take to burn it off. If a woman needs cake, she gets cake. Don't question it unless you want to end up in an early grave."

Harry's mouth was hanging open like he wanted to say something to defend himself but nothing was coming out. He closed it a couple of times, reopening it to try again, but he could still make no words come out. His eyes were wide and almost terrified looking. For men who could stare down the scum of the earth and not flinch, some of them were real cowards when it came to day to day interactions. Eventually he shut his mouth for a final time, shook his head, muttered a timid, "Enjoy your cake," and disappeared back into the crowd of men behind me.

"You didn't need to defend me," I assured Suzan, taking a large forkful of cake into my mouth. "I survived the men down in Trenton, I'm sure I can handle these guys."

Suzan leaned an elbow on the counter so that he was closer to being eye to eye with me. "I have no doubt that a Jersey Girl like you can handle these knuckleheads," he assured me, and I could tell he meant it. "But sometimes I need to remind them who's in charge here. They waltz in whenever they please and use it as an extension of their own workplace. I'm happy for the business, but if I let them get too comfortable here they'll scare off my other customers."

I nodded, unable to speak due to the amount of the truly decadent cake I'd just shoved into my mouth.

For a long moment he just watched me eat. "I appreciate a woman who enjoys her food," he confessed after a while. "Too often I get women asking for no-fat, low carb, sugarless and whatever else is on trend at the time. It's impossible. No one should eat like that. If any of these guys give you a hard time over your eating habits, I give you permission to beat the crap out of them."

A laugh escaped me so suddenly that I almost choked on the cake still in my mouth. I could tell I was going to get on just fine with Suzan. "Can I be honest with you?" I asked him, laying my fork down as I me this gaze. He nodded, turning serious in response to my sudden shift in mood. "I don't know how I'm going to survive here," I said quietly.

Suzan narrowed his eyes at me. "You just said you could handle these men," he pointed out, gesturing to the men behind me.

Shaking my head, I picked up my fork once more and started scraping the excess frosting off the plate, avoiding his eyes. "It's not the men I'm worried about," I confessed. "If they hadn't invited me out tonight I probably would have starved. I don't know how to cook and I usually just subsist on a combination of take out and peanut butter and olive sandwiches. Neither of which is allowed in the building."

"You don't know how to cook?" he asked, sounding so incredulous that I lifted my head to see his expression. It appeared he couldn't comprehend my statement. "How can a food loving woman such as yourself exist for so long without learning how to make even the most basic of meals?"

I sighed and began to explain about my mother's expectations of me growing up and how I defied her at every turn and that now I'd just fallen into a routine of bumming meals and ordering take out and I hadn't really felt the need to learn. "I tried once," I assured him. "But the results were pretty terrible."

"Your mother sounds like a real piece of work," Suzan said.

"The whole neighbourhood is," I agreed.

He laid his hands flat on the table and eyed me for a minute. "Once you have your schedule, let me know when you're free," he instructed. "I'll teach you a few basic recipes to get you through."

"You don't have to do that for me," I said, though a part of me was touched that he liked me enough to offer up his time after only one meeting.

"I can't have you wasting away to nothing on my watch," he said. "I could never live with myself."

*o*

The next morning as I stared into the refrigerator once more, I couldn't help but think I should have asked Suzan for a quick demonstration of a suitable breakfast food right then and there, because I found myself faced with tasteless bran or butter on toast. Neither option was all that appealing, but I was running out of time, so I dropped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and forced myself to eat it without the usual quarter inch thick peanut butter on top. It was bland, but I was sure I'd survive. People did this kind of thing every day. I'm sure I could manage for a while.

I dressed in the Rangeman uniform I'd brought with me, the standard issue black cargo pants and matching black tee with black embroidery on the left breast. I slipped my feet into the combat boots the Lester and Bobby had bought me and was ready for the day.

Feeling rather good about myself, or, at the very least, as ready for the day ahead of me as I will ever be, I opened the door to my apartment and was about to step out into the hall when I noticed a brown paper package sitting there, waiting for me to trip over it. Luckily for me, my constant training over the last couple of months, along with the extra time spend with the guys must have been doing the trick, because I noticed it _before_ my foot made contact and I lost my balance.

I picked it up, figuring that if it was inside the Rangeman building it must have already gone through any necessary security screenings and was safe to handle. A glance at my watch, however, showed that I had only a couple of minutes to present myself in Hugh's office. I didn't want to be late on my first day, so I set the package down on my little kitchen counter, unopened, and hurried back out of the apartment.

Realising that I didn't have time to gamble on the elevator, I headed straight for the stairwell, assuring myself that it was only one flight and I could do it without getting puffed. Well, maybe if I'd been moving at a reasonable pace that would have been true, but since I was in hurry mode, I was breathing heavily by the time I reached the next level. I didn't pause, though. I couldn't spare the time. Instead, I just powered on until I reached the door at the end of the hall that would usually belong to Ranger if this was Trenton. I had enough time to double check the name plate and take a couple of deep breaths before the door swung inwards, revealing a man. He seemed weeny compared to even the least toned Rangemen I'd come in contact with. The dark circles under his eyes and liberal stubble on his jaw didn't help matters. He was pale, but not in the I-was-born-pale-and-have-never-been-tan-in-my-life kind of way that I was. His pallor was more of a sickly sallow.

"You're late," he said, surprising me with how hard his tone was. It didn't match his appearance at all. He stepped to the side of the doorway to allow me to enter as I checked my watch. It was literally only a few seconds after ten o'clock! "Tardiness will not be tolerated," he informed me sternly, following me into the room and closing the door behind himself. "A few seconds could be the difference between life and death.

 _Geez_. It seemed like everything around here boiled down to a matter of life or death. No wonder Lester thought they were no fun. Who wanted to hear about how they could have been the cause of someone's death every day?

"Sorry," I said, having managed to regained most of my ability to breathe normally. "It won't happen again."

He gave me a hard look. Either that or he was trying not to vomit. It's hard to tell with is green-around-the-gills complexion. "I won't hold my breath," he assured me.

 _Ouch_! Whatever happened to the benefit of the doubt? I felt like I'd been given one chance with this guy and had already blown it. I hadn't even really started working here and I was already on his shit list. I tucked my hands into my pockets and lowered my head a bit, not because I was ashamed of my actions, but because I needed to control my reactions so that I didn't invoke even more ire from my new boss.

While I was recovering from his burn, Hugh had crossed to the desk and retrieved a file folder. "Here is your welcome packet," he explained, holding it out for me to take. "Inside you'll find a detailed layout of the building, your schedule for the next few weeks and a few other important documents. You are expected to read and obey all rules and regulations during your time here."

I nodded my understanding, not that he was paying attention to me; he'd sat down at his desk and was fiddling with something on his computer. After the last few months, I was used to this kind of treatment from Tank, who would often continue on with paperwork while thinking about the issue I'd presented him with. When I'd asked him about it once, he'd explained that he'd found he thought better when part of his brain was distracted by menial tasks.

I hadn't asked Hugh a question though, so I had no idea what he was thinking about. Had I been dismissed? This was our first meeting. I needed a little more to go on than his distraction.

I'd just opened my mouth to ask if I should leave when there was a short, sharp rap on the door.

"That'll be Harry," Hugh announced on his way across the room to open the door. "He'll be showing you the ropes over the next week or so until you find your feet."

As the door opened revealing the man who'd driven picked me up from the airport yesterday, I was struck dumb by his appearance. Yesterday he'd been sporting a bowler hat. Today his head was covered with a slouchy beanie, revealing just a small tuft of blonde hair at the front. It was just a little bit mesmerising how a simple change of hat could change his entire look from sophisticated businessman, to laid back hippie. And all while wearing the standard Rangeman blacks.

* * *

 _Until next chapter, I hope you all have days filled with whatever feels like sunshine to your soul._


	18. Chapter 18

_You can blame Netflix for the fact that this chapter wasn't out on Friday... That and my super ability to procrastinate._

 **C** **hapter 18**

As it turns out, Harry's first job was to take me down to the gym. More specifically, a small room off to the side of the gym where I was to complete my first aid course. The room was empty when he lead me inside, if you don't count the creepy, faceless dolls stacked against the far wall. Nothing but a table, a couple of chairs, a smart board, and the creepy dolls to keep me company as I waited for my instructor.

"Do you know who's teaching me?" I asked as Harry just stood awkwardly in the doorway. I'd made the assumption based on his behaviour and the way he'd spoken about the task on the way down that he was not going to be the one leading me through my first aid.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, adjusting his beanie on his head. I was beginning to think it was a nervous tick. He'd done it in the SUV yesterday after I'd revealed a couple of startling facts about my need for sugar. He'd fiddled with his hat last night after Suzan had told him off for questioning my need for cake. And he'd been absently touching his beanie since the moment we stepped out of Hugh's office upstairs. The common factor in each of these cases was my presence, but I could not, for the life of me, figure out what had made him nervous about my presence today. Was I really that scary? Most Rangemen tended to just laugh at my attempts to be fierce, and I wasn't even trying right now.

"We have two First Aid Officers," Harry explained after a long moment. "Our company medic, Stitch, and-"

"Me."

Harry's sentence was cut off by a typical Rangeman. There was nothing out of the ordinary about him. He wore all black, was clean shaven, and had mousey brown hair slicked back off his forehead. His eyes were a non-descript brown and his face was set to "blank" as most Rangemen were. I recognised him easily from the mugshot on the piece of paper Yetti had given me upon my arrival yesterday. This was Bronson. The guy with allergies and medical conditions up that wazoo. I thought back over my breakfast of toast and butter, recalling his intolerances to gluten – which was found in bread – and dairy. What are the chances I could make him sick by being in the same room as him?

I tried to calm my thoughts by reminding myself that I'd washed my face and hands and brushed my teeth before leaving my apartment, just like Yetti had instructed. Just like everyone had done upon arriving home from dinner last night. It should be fine, right? Of course it would be. I took a deep, calming breath and focused on Harry as he made a gesture toward me.

"Stephanie Plum," Harry said, standing a little taller. "This is Bronson Johns, our secondary First Aid officer," he introduced. "Bronson, this is Ms. Plum, our body on loan from Trenton."

Bronson's head tipped to the side as he examined me. "You're the one who'll be learning us some skills in the research department?" he asked, a small smile twitching at his lips.

"Apparently," I confirmed. "Is that a problem?"

The smile bloomed fully on his face as he shook his head, tucking his hands behind his back. "Not at all," he assured me. "I just pictured you as being…"

"What?" I asked as he trailed off. "What did you have in mind? Taller? Skinnier? Prettier?"

"Whoa!" Bronson held up his hands defensively. "Nothing like that, I promise. We've just heard so many stories about you that I sort of expected you to look tougher. Instead, you're just sort of average."

"Average?" I scoffed. "Average is a compliment. I am so far below average that half the time I can't even see average with a telescope."

Bronson's smile stayed in place as he met my eyes. "Well at least I haven't insulted you on our first meeting," he pointed out. "I can't imagine how the guys down in Trenton would treat me if they found out I'd put you down within ten seconds of meeting you. They'd probably force feed me nuts or something."

That sounded a little extreme. I'm sure they wouldn't be happy about me being mistreated, but I was pretty sure they wouldn't deliberately risk his life for saying I was average.

"I'll leave you to it," Harry said, ducking out of the room and closing the door behind himself. It was just me and Bronson in the room. And those creepy dolls. I was avoiding looking in their direction. The less I had to look at them, the more chances I had of them not haunting my dreams tonight.

While I was studiously avoiding the concave heads of the dolls at the other end of the room, Bronson crossed to the desk in the corner and pulled out some stuff from the drawers, laying on the table in the centre of the room. There was a tube, a boxy piece of technology, a couple of bodiless, rubber faces, and a thick wad of paper.

"So, first aid," he said, sitting down on one side of the table and indicating that I should sit opposite him. "We'll start with the legal side of things."

Two hours later, I had successfully demonstrated CPR on the creepy dolls the end of the room. Faces attached, thank god. And apparently they were each nicknamed, the name scrawled in sharpie on the bottom of their torso. I had the pleasure of attempting to resuscitate Benjamin. Alas, despite my perfect performance – on the third try – Benjamin did not make it. Although, neither did Nancy, on whom Bronson had been demonstrating. With the CPR behind us, we'd moved straight on to asthma and anaphylaxis. Asthma had been pretty easy. Find blue reliever inhaler and assist patient to administer. If it's serious, call the ambulance.

But now we were on anaphylaxis and it seemed to me like there was a lot riding on it, considering the person teaching me was actually anaphylactic. To a myriad of foods. And there was always the possibility that I could be partnered with him at some point during my stay here in Boston. I needed to be ready in case he had a reaction and I was the only one with him.

"So I just jab it in?" I asked nervously. I was knelt on the floor, Bronson laid out on his back in front of me, his hands behind his head propping it up so he could watch me.

"Technically you _press_ it against my thigh," he clarified casually. "No jabbing involved."

I nodded, holding the epi pen in my fist as I stared at the place on his thigh that he'd indicated to jab it. He'd assured me that the pen we were using today was a dummy. No needle inside. It was designed to allow first aiders to get a feel for the process and the kick back without arbitrarily shooting someone full of epinephrine. There was no way it could hurt either one of us. Even if I did it wrong.

"You're sure this won't hurt you?" I said.

"No way, no how," Bronson confirmed. "It's a trainer, like I said. The only way it could possibly hurt is if you literally jab the entire thing into my flesh with all your might. Although, I have a feeling even if you did it wouldn't hurt me all that much. You don't strike me as all that strong."

I sent him a glare. This guy really knew how to pick at me. He'd been doing it constantly since the moment he entered the room. But he had that consistent twinkle in his eye that reminded me so much of Lester that I was finding it hard to hold it against him. "You should ask the Trenton guys what my knee is capable of," I suggested. "You wouldn't be calling me weak then."

He rose an eyebrow at me. "That may be true, but there is no direct correlation between knee strength and arm strength, so until you can prove otherwise, my assessment stands." He sat up a little to eye the epi pen still clasped in my right hand. "Are we gonna do this? Or are we just gonna sit here and discuss your lack of upper body strength?"

"We're gonna do this," I said confidently, even though I didn't feel anywhere near confident. I removed the cap from the end and met Bronson's eyes once more. "Blue to the sky, orange to the thigh?" I questioned, reciting the rhyme he'd taught me to remember which way to position the pen.

"And keep your thumb wrapped around the barrel away from the ends," he added with a nod.

"And there's no way this can hurt you?"

"Honestly, Steph," he sighed. "You worry too much. If this was a real one it would hurt yes, but this is not a real one. For the last time, you can't hurt me with it."

"Okay," I said, taking a deep, stabilising breath. "Well, if you're s-"

"IF THIS WAS REAL LIFE I'D BE DEAD ALREADY!" Bronson yelled, in that distinctive tone I'd come to know as that of a drill sergeant. "JUST SHUT UP AND SHOVE IT IN!"

A strangled cry left my lips as I reacted without thought, jabbing the orange end of the tube at Bronson's thigh exactly where he'd indicated earlier. My startled cry turned into a scream, however, as Bronson let out an agonised shout, clutching his leg.

"Ahhh!" he yelled, the veins and tendons sticking out in his face and neck as he curled up. "Motherfucker! Jesus Christ! Shit! Fu-AAAHHH!"

So stunned was I by Bronson's reaction, so clearly in pain despite his assurances that the epi pen contained no needle and could therefore not hurt him in the least, I was frozen in place, holding the pen to his thigh as I screamed with him.

"GET IT OUT!" he cried, tears streaming down his face. "GET IT OUT! I GAVE YOU THE WRONG ONE!"

My hands jerked away, dropping the pen to the floor as I scooted backwards away from him. I'd already done enough damage. I didn't want to accidentally kneel on his fingers as he writhed in pain.

"I'm so sorry!" I told him as his shouts died down to whimpers. "I'm so so sorry! I was just doing what you said to do! I didn't realise it was real! I'm sorry! I should call the medic. I should call the ambulance. I should-"

The sounds coming from Bronson had shifted again. He no longer sounded like he was in life threatening pain. He sounded more like he was crying. Or… I stared at his face, as his hands fell away from his thigh and his body relaxed back into the floor. He was grinning. Not grimacing. Definitely grinning. And the sounds he was making were laughter. I didn't understand. Was this a side effect of the unneeded medication? Did it cause giddiness? Was this normal? Should I be dialling 911 right now?

"Sorry," he gasped after a long moment. "I couldn't resist!" He sat up, brushing his hair back into place. "You were so worried, I just had to-"

"YOU BASTARD!" I yelled as I realised what was happening. This man who was supposed to be helping me through my first aid exams had decided to pull a prank on me with a tool that was the only thing that could keep him alive if he had a bad reaction to nuts or something. Without my permission, I found my hands lashing out at him, fists colliding with his chest and arms. "I THOUGHT I'D ACTUALLY HURT YOU!" I cried. "I WAS FREAKING OUT YOU-"

"So worth it," he said calmly, swatting my hands away as he stood up. "Rest assured I will not react anywhere near that bad in a real life situation. It's not _that_ painful." He offered me a hand up, but I was fuming so bad that I couldn't manage to unclench the muscles in my arms enough to raise it.

This guy was _worse_ than Lester. Lester would never joke about something that could save someone's life. He was a joker and a prankster, yes, but he knew when to be serious. Bronson, on the other hand, seemed to be lacking in that self-control department.

"Come on, Steph," he said, crouching back down. "It was a harmless joke."

"I thought I'd caused you physical harm," I gritted out, glaring up at him. "It wasn't funny. It was terrifying."

He shook his head. "Man, from what I'd heard about you I thought you'd be more fun loving," he said. "At least I was right about your upper body strength."

*o*

"How was first aid training?" Bobby asked upon answering the phone that night. I'd finished my written exam for the actual first aid part of the all day program, and hadn't even bothered waiting until I'd reached the privacy of my apartment before I dialled the man. He was the only member of the core team I hadn't spoken to since arriving in Boston, so I thought it was only fair that I call him instead of Lester or Tank. Besides, I could almost guarantee he'd be just as outraged at Bronson's behaviour as I was, which was kind of what I needed right now, even five hours later.

"Well, I passed," I said, hitting the button for the elevator again. I felt I'd spent enough time using the stairs today between my run up them this morning and the fact that Harry and Bronson had both insisted on using them during the day when travelling the two floors up and down to the command floor and back. I'd earned the right to the elevator.

Bobby saw straight through my tone. "Why don't you sound happy about that?" he asked. "You should be proud of yourself."

"And I am," I assured him. "I'm glad I passed. I just-" I paused as Bronson sauntered past me, thankfully making a bee line for the stairs rather than stopping to wait for the elevator with me. Probably, he'd caught on to my ire over the last several hours. I was still angry at him for his prank and didn't think I could make it through the elevator ride with him without giving him a demonstration of what my knee was capable of.

"What is it?"

I waited a few seconds after the door closed behind Bronson before speaking again. "Can you tell me about Bronson Johns?" I asked, as the elevator doors opened and I stepped in. It was empty, so I was free to talk.

"He's anaphylactic to nuts, shell fish, pe –"

"Not his medical history," I said with a shake of my head. "His personality."

Bobby's tone was suspicious when he asked, "Why? What is this about?"

I sighed. "Earlier when we were doing epi pen training he thought it would be funny to act like I'd caused him significant pain when I pressed the training pen into his thigh. He was screaming and writhing around and I freaked out and was about to call 911 when he started laughing and explaining that he couldn't resist pulling a swift one on me."

The man on the other end of the phone was silent for several seconds, which wouldn't be that concerning, based on past experience, except that I could hear him breathing loudly.

"Bobby?" I said.

"Just give me a sec, Steph," he said and it sounded like his teeth were clenched.

By the time Bobby had regained his composure, I'd made it to my apartment and kicked off my boots beside the door and entered the kitchen, intending to grab a bottle of water from the fridge when I noticed the package from this morning sitting on the counter.

"Does he realise how dangerous that could be?" Bobby questioned. "Suppose he traumatised you so badly with that experience that if there ever is a true emergency where you have to administer an epi pen you just freeze, unable to follow through because you're so scared of what might happen. And has he ever heard of the boy that cried wolf? He reacts like that this time, but what if he reacts like that for real at some point and you're sitting there just waiting for him to dissolve into laughter like the first time. He's gambling with his own life here."

"Exactly!" I agreed, untying the string holding the brown paper in place and pulling it away to reveal a container of what appeared to be brownies. I almost wept with joy. Chocolate in cake form. Exactly what I needed right now. Without hesitating, I opened the container and pulled out a piece, shoving it straight into my mouth. "That's exactly what I said."

"He's lucky I'm three states away," Bobby assured me. "If I was there he'd already be flat on his back on the mats. I swear, I'm gonna-"

"Bobby," I said, through my second mouthful of brownie. "You can't fight my battles for me."

"The hell I can't!" he countered. "All I have to do is call S-"

"Stop," I said firmly, spraying crumbs across the counter. I decided to finish chewing and swallow before continuing, lest I waste more of the precious brownie. "I called you to vent. Not so that you could call my schoolyard bully to the mats. I can handle this myself, I just needed a sympathetic ear to talk to while I cooled off."

"What are you eating?" Bobby asked, abruptly changing the topic, probably so that he could avoid thinking about it and getting angry on my behalf again.

"Brownie," I said.

"I thought Lester said that they confiscated all of your baked goods when you arrived," Bobby pointed out, sounding a lot calmer now that we weren't on the topic of Bronson's prank.

"They did," I confirmed. "These ones turned up on my doorstep this morning."

"And you're eating them?!" the calm that had come over him was suddenly gone. "Steph, that's a stupid idea! Do you know where they came from? What's in them? They could be poisoned for all you know."

"Bobby," I said, suddenly exasperated. "I'm living in one of the most secure buildings in the country. If they made it to my door, I have to believe that they've already be checked more times than Santa Claus checks his naughty and nice list. I'm sure there's nothing wrong with them. Just a welcome to Boston gift."

"Call me as soon as you feel any nausea or drowsiness," Bobby instructed sternly.

"Yes, Mom," I sighed on an eye roll, setting the container of brownies aside so I wouldn't eat all of them in one sitting. That would almost guarantee a stomach ache, which would do nothing to prove to Bobby that they weren't laced with some un-brownie-ingredient substance. "How about you talk me through how to make a meal that doesn't taste like ass out of the green stuff in my fridge," I suggested, thinking that continuing to talk to him while the brownie worked its way into my digestive system would help to ease his mind a little.

"I've actually gotta head out for a surveillance shift in a minute," he said apologetically. "But you should send Lester a pic of what you have. I'm sure he can help you whip up something that tastes almost as unhealthy as what you're used to." We both laughed a little at that, but the truth was, I'd actually been eating a lot better since my break up with Joe. Between the healthy snacks in the break room and the frozen meals that Tank had stocked his granny flat with, I was eating vegetables at least twice a day. And not just olives. Avoiding the Burg had done wonders for my waistline, now I just had to work out how to keep up the eating habits on my own.

* * *

 _ **The epipen prank is courtesy of my friend who was very surprised when she suggested it during a random discussion and I immediately accepted it as one of my plot babies. Her ideas don't usually make it anywhere near my stories.**_


	19. Chapter 19

_I read once that if you don't know what to do next, have someone enter the room carrying a gun. When I opened up my word doc to start writing this chapter, I had no idea what to have happen next, so I heeded that advice._

 **Chapter 19**

Barrel entered the room carrying a gun. I honestly couldn't tell you what make and model it was, because despite having worked with guns for the last five years, I was terrible at identifying them. I knew that my first gun was a Smith and Wesson and I knew that Ranger favoured a Glock. I knew how to load and shoot a couple different models. I had had one or two lessons on taking a gun apart and the importance of cleaning it, but honestly, everyone knows that I pretty much just keep it in a cookie jar most of the time, so I didn't see how that was important to me. What I really needed to know about guns, I already knew: a) don't aim them at people unless you mean it, b) gunshots hurt like a mother fucker, and c) I don't like guns.

My mother would probably be shocked to know how often I actually _don't_ carry a gun, or perhaps that most of the time when I _do_ carry, it's not loaded. Mom had this vision in her head of me wielding a firearm at every FTA I've ever brought back into the system. Which, anyone who knows me knows, is miles from the truth. Of course, working for Rangeman I am required to carry a loaded gun at all times, but that hadn't been much of a problem in the last couple of months. Since I wasn't leaving the building I was able to leave it at my desk unless I was in the gun range, or heading home.

The guys all insisted that I take the gun with me whenever I leave the building. Knowing how I felt about the burg and their prying eyes, though, I was nervous that if anyone so much as looked at me in a way that suggested they were judging me by the rumours they'd heard, I wouldn't hesitate to shoot them. And I absolutely couldn't guarantee that it wouldn't have been a fatal wound. I may not be a great shot, but I'd been working with Junior consistently for almost three months, and I was confident I could hit a kill zone if provoked enough.

And the way I'd been feeling lately, it wouldn't have taken much provocation. It was probably a good thing I'd decided to get out of town for a while, otherwise I probably would have ended up behind bars before Ranger ever made it back from whatever shit storm he was probably caught up in.

Hugh wanted me ready to start training his troops by Monday, which meant getting me through all the assessments he needed to ensure I wasn't going to accidentally cause his men to be in dangerous situations that could have been avoided if I were properly trained. Hence my presence in the gun range at eight o'clock on a Saturday morning.

I wasn't exactly in the best of moods this morning, after being trolled by Bronson yesterday and the fact that I'd burned my omelette beyond recognition this morning. I'd followed all the instructions Lester emailed me and had still failed. I shouldn't be surprised though, last night's stir fry he talked me through was barely edible, and that was with him on video chat so that he could see what was happening in the pan. I was probably going to have to invest in some TV dinners or something if I was going to survive here. Especially since I'd learned yesterday that only basic sandwiches were supplied in the break room here. I'd been hoping I could steal the odd meal to tide me over, but apparently Boston had different expectations on their employees when it came to keeping themselves fed.

"Ms. Plum, are you paying attention?" Barrel asked, his tone exasperated.

I blinked a few times and cut my eyes to where he was standing on the other side of the counter. His face was professionally blank and the gun lay in pieces between us. He must have been explaining the anatomy and how to take it apart and put it back together. And I hadn't heard a single word he'd said, because I was brooding over the turn my life had taken. Less than three months ago, I had been engaged and preparing to get married and now I was in single and in Boston burning my food instead of cars and slowly starving to death. If it weren't for those anonymously delivered brownies I'd be a raging mess right now.

I'm pretty sure, despite the fact that Ranger had resumed his tendency to touch and kiss me every chance he got, that we were still not a thing. He'd made a point of giving me the space I needed to deal with the wreckage of my life, which is why he'd offered me Tank's granny flat instead of suggesting I move into the Rangeman building, and as such, we hadn't discussed the possibility of our friendship evolving into something more. And to be honest, I wasn't sure I was in a stable enough place mentally to support a romantic relationship right now. Hopefully the time away from Trenton would allow me to find my centre and reassert my confidence so that if, or when I ever returned I'd be ready to shove the Burg gossip where it belongs: up their too-tight assholes. And then _maybe_ I'd be in a position to entertain the idea of being with someone again.

"Ms. Plum?" Barrel said again, reminding me that I hadn't responded to his question, instead allowing myself to be drawn back into my thoughts once more.

"Please, call me Steph," I responded, shaking my head. They'd all been overly formal with me since my arrival. I was heartily sick of being addressed as Ms. Plum, but no matter how many people I told, every time I met someone new, they would call me Ms. Plum. It was like I had to give individual permission to each and every one of them.

Barrel gave me a look that I couldn't quite interpret, because his face was still mostly blank, masking the majority of whatever emotion was attempting to leak out. "Well then, Steph," he said. "Are you ready to pay attention?"

I nodded, looking down to where the gun lay in pieces. "You may need to start again if you were going to have me pull this gun apart and put it back together," I told him, eyeing the pieces uncertainly. Some of them were pretty easily identifiable, but that didn't mean I knew how they all locked together to make a working gun. "You also might want to clear your schedule for the rest of the day if that's today's main goal," I added. "I haven't successfully put my Smith and Wesson back together yet and that's with weeks of instruction."

The man looked at me with his jaw hanging open ever so slightly, a horrified expression melting away his blank face. "They told me you were terrible with a gun, but come on!" he bemoaned. "If you're going to work in this field, in this _company,_ you're going to need to pick up a few more skills with the tools of the trade. Being good at searches and having good instincts isn't going to get you far, and it's certainly not going to ensure that your partner's back is covered. If you're going to use a gun, you need to be able to service it to ensure it remains in working order."

The passion in Barrel's voice took me by surprise. I knew the men in this business liked their toys, but I'd never heard anyone talk about a gun and its maintenance the way Barrel did. It awe inducing. Gun safety was obviously what fuelled his fire. No wonder he was in charge of the weapons store and gun range here. He made me want to be a better gun user and owner and I vowed to practice the skills he would show me more often. Something told me that I didn't want to disappoint this man when it came to being serious about my gun training.

Without saying another word, he reassembled the gun and placed it back down between us, restarting his lecture on anatomy and construction, demonstrating how to take it apart slowly, and then putting back together for a second time. He then guided me step by step through the process until I was able to take it all the way apart with only his verbal instructions as a guide. How did he manage this? Well, instead of simply showing me the whole process and then expecting me to be able to follow his instructions straight away, he carefully showed me one step, then put it back together so that I could attempt that step. Once I'd managed that step he added the next step to the process, showing me the two steps in succession and having me repeat it, and so on until I had the gun fully broken down on the bench between us. In this method, by the time made it through six steps, I'd performed the first step six times, the second five times etc, thereby cementing the process in my head more firmly and building up some muscle memory from the repetitive motions.

By the end of two hours I hadn't fired a single shot, but I was far more confident with disassembly than I had been when I woke up this morning.

"Come see me this evening before you turn in so we can go over it again," Barrel instructed, ensuring the safety was turned on and that the gun was securely packed away in the weapons vault. "The more you practice the easier it will become. The easier it becomes, the further we progress. The further we progress, the sooner you're allowed out in the field. I've been told you are particularly susceptible to cabin fever, but I'm not willing to sign off on your gun skills until I'm confident you can handle it in its entirety. Mechanisms and all. I bend the system for you and send you out without proper gun safety training and it's _my_ ass on the line when someone gets hurt, and I will not be risking my own ass."

I nodded in agreement and understanding, but all I could think of was how the Boston Rangemen really were sticklers for protocol. I'd never heard all that much talk about following procedures back in Trenton. They'd all just allowed me to continue on with my aversion to guns and violence, giving me pointers and training when I really needed it, or asked for it, but otherwise just letting me do my own thing.

Barrel paused in his actions to meet my gaze across the counter top. "I'm doing this for your own safety and the safety of your colleagues," Barrel reminded me, probably sensing the cloud that had descended on me as I thought of the hoops I was required to jump through. "I know you have a special relationship with Ranger, but I'm surprised he let you go so long in the company without proper training. He's the one who put these protocols in place, after all, and he put them in place for a reason."

"I know," I assured him. "I was just thinking the same thing."

"Being here in Boston is going to do you good, it seems," Barrel said. "After a few weeks here we'll all be better off. You'll have a more reliable skill set, and we'll all be on our way to better searches."

A genuine smile snuck up on me and I was helpless to stop it from spreading my lips. After the foul mood I'd sunk into yesterday and this morning, hearing his optimism was a welcome slice of positive pie. "Thanks, Barrel," I said.

"Just doing my job," he replied, shrugging. "Now you better get going or you're going to be late for your self-defence training assessment."

*o*

I stumbled off the mats, exhausted, dripping with sweat and feeling like my limbs were made of lead, having just finished a training session with a guy named Mungo who, evidently, put the ass in assassin, because he was gonna kill me if all our sessions were as intense as they were today. Every time I asked for mercy, or a drink break he came back with a witty reply about how there are no breaks in the fight for survival. If the physical exertion he was subjecting me to wasn't annoying enough, the way he nonchalantly skipped around me while I tried to regain my footing after a blow was worse. I could barely stay upright and he had the energy to act like a five year old in the school yard, effortlessly evading my attempts to lay even a single finger on him.

My cell was ringing by the time I made it to the bench were I'd left my stuff. I wasn't sure I had the breath or mental capacity to entertain a conversation right now, but a after glancing at the screen and seeing Tank's name flashing there, I decided to suck it up – literally, I needed _all_ the air right now – and hit answer.

"Tell me that sending me here wasn't just a ploy to force me to get proper training," I panted by way of greeting.

"Just a convenient by product of the tight ship Hugh runs," Tank replied coolly. "I'm calling to let you know that I just had a rather unexpected phone call forwarded to my office from the hotline," he informed me, effortlessly changing the subject while I was occupied guzzling down a bottle of water. "It was your father, requesting that I pass along the message that you should call him."

"Is that all he said?" I asked, still breathing heavily. My father was a very succinct man. He didn't like to waste words, so I could definitely see him making the request and leaving it at that.

"Well, no," Tank informed me. "He mentioned that he'd heard about the incident at the mall earlier in the week and wanted to make sure you were doing okay. I got the impression that he wasn't aware that you had left the state, given that he wondered if he would be allowed to come to Haywood and see for himself that you were holding up okay if you wouldn't return his or your mother's calls or invitations to dinner."

There was an accusation clear in his voice, and I knew why. He'd been adamant, while I was preparing for my trip, that I let my family know I was going, and give them my new cell number. I had decided to ignore his advice. As much as I'd like to believe that my parents would support me through the rough terrain I was currently traversing, it was hard to imagine, given the years of hounding I'd received from my mother. Every time there was a new rumour on the mill, she would just go along with it as truth, reminding me that I was a terrible daughter. With years of experience under my belt, I could only imagine my mother's reaction to hearing that I'd apparently been sleeping with an entire company of men while still engaged to Morelli. There was no use even attempting to correct her view. What the Burg said was gospel. And I'd always been a liar.

"I couldn't face them," I said in a small voice, leaning my head back against the wall behind the bench. "My mother-"

"At the very least, you should have given your father your new number," Tank said gently. "He's worried about you."

I closed my eyes, trying to stay calm. I knew it was unfair to cut Dad out of my life simply because Mom was a judgemental cow, but I couldn't do it. And especially now, knowing that he had heard the things Morelli had said about me and the men. I don't know how I can ever look my father in the eye again. "He's heard what Morelli said," I whispered, my voice thick as I fought back shame filled tears. "He's heard everything. I can't-"

"Steph, your father isn't going to believe the rot that neighbourhood churns out," Tank said sounding exasperated. "After everything you've told me about your father being the only one to ever truly believe in you and support your decisions and actions, why would you think that he would take the word of a cheating bastard over that of his own daughter? Give the man a call and put his mind at ease."

And with that, he hung up, leaving me in the midst of the fight against tears. He was right. Of course he was. He was always right. But that didn't make what he was asking me to do any easier. I couldn't even begin to figure out how to talk to my father right now, especially not about what happened with Morelli.

* * *

 ** _The presentation of this chapter is fuelled by unscheduled naps, hours of procrastinating on youtube and a night spent half watching the closing ceremony of the Commonwealth Games._**


	20. Chapter 20

_Hooray to sick days! A third of chapter 30 (The chapter I had to write in order to post this chapter) was written while waiting to see my doctor for the upper respiratory tract infection I've managed to contract. And once I got that far, it was almost (ALMOST) impossible to stop. I did stop a few times. I had to eat, and take a nap._

 **Chapter 20**

"This is your desk here," Harry explained, leading me across the break room to a small, round table in the corner that had been set up to look like a typical desk. There was a laptop, a yellow note pad, a Rangeman mug full of pens, in and out trays (complete with a hefty pile of search requests already), and, just to make it seem a little more official, a handmade name plate with my name on it. The squareness of most of the items on the table was jarring against the curved edge surrounding them, but at the very least the table was big enough to accommodate all the equipment and still have an area free as a workspace.

"It's not much," Harry continued, coming to a stop beside the table and turning to face me. "But it's the best we could do on short notice. All the cubicles are full. There was the suggestions that you could time share a desk, or desk hop or something, but Hugh decided it would be easier on everyone if you had your own designated work space. That way we're avoiding the inevitable awkward moment when someone needs their desk back, as well as having the benefit of knowing where you're most likely to be."

I nodded my understanding, moving past Harry to the chair I'd been provided: one of the standard issue break room chairs - four legs, black, straight back, hard seat. I could feel my ass cramping just looking at it. It almost made me miss that inflatable donut I'd had to use after I was shot in the ass after my first major FTA.

"Is it okay?" Harry asked, tipping his cowboy hat back so that it was balanced on the back of the startlingly blond waves I'd caught a glimpse of peeking out from under his beanie yesterday morning. I'd never seen anything quite like it The Merry Men all tended to be dark haired by some weird twist of fate, or, if they did happen to be blonde, they obviously kept it extremely short, because I couldn't recall any blondes in the Trenton office, with the possible exception of Lester Santos, who's fair hair was nowhere near as light as this guy's. It just looked so out of place and I had to struggle not to stare.

"It's fine," I said after what was probably far too long a pause as I got distracted by his hair. "Honestly, you guys are doing me a massive favour by taking me in. I'm not going to complain."

Not it was Harry's turn to nod, the action causing his hat to fall back into place, hiding the pale locks once more. "I have to get back to the lab and prep a job, but there's plenty of people close by if you have a problem."

"Thanks," I said as he turned to leave. I hadn't actually been given any specific instructions on what I was expected to do this afternoon, so I just got started on what I would normally do. I sat down at my little round table, opened the laptop to start it up and dragged the first search request over in front of me. I'd just flipped open the front cover when Harry reappeared at my side. I raised my face to meet his gaze, curious as to what had called him back here.

"You'll need to come down to the lab at some point so I can program the Boston crew's contact details into your phone," he informed me. "I should be back in by 1630. Feel free to go before then, but I should warn you that Harvey is a little…. Confronting when you first meet him." And with that little nugget of information, Harry once again made his way to the door.

That was now two Merry Men that I had to see before returning to my apartment tonight. Fearing I would forget, I quickly jotted both appointments on the yellow notepad. And with a sigh, I also jotted down _Call Dad_. Tank said I should, and Tank was usually right, I just didn't know how to open a conversation with my father, knowing that he'd probably heard everything that went on and what I'd been accused of and even how the Burg had exaggerated the situation as well. He knew everything. And had probably had at least a dozen earfuls of it from Mom as well. I was definitely not looking forward to that conversation.

The laptop screen lit up with the log in screen and I had brief moment of panic due to the fact that I hadn't been provided with any log in details for the Boston office. When that moment passed, though, I tried my details from Trenton and was relieved when it worked, bringing up my desktop with all my programs lined up exactly how I liked them. At least I didn't have to fumble around finding things.

I set the first search running in all programs and sat back while I waited for the results to start appearing on the screen. In the meantime I took advantage of the proximity of the kitchen facilities to my desk to grab a sandwich for a late lunch. Training with Barrel and Mungo had taken up the entire morning and distracted me enough from the fact that I hadn't really eaten properly today. Now that I had all the time in the world to think about my empty stomach, though, I could feel the rumblings beginning to gather intensity. If I left it any longer, I'd be battling the full on beast, growling loud enough for the men out of the command floor to hear.

I knew from the previous day, when I'd accompanied Bronson up to the breakroom for lunch half way through my first aid training that the food selections in the Boston fridge were simple compared to those in Trenton. Whereas in Trenton I could often find actual meals ready to be reheated alongside sandwiches and containers of salad, here in Boston, the break room fridge was a much more 'fend for yourself' affair. There was premade salad, yes, and fruit ready for eating, but anything more and you had to put in some effort. The makings were all there, cut and ready to go, but you had to assemble it all yourself.

I created myself a turkey sandwich with more mayo than was probably necessary, but decided that the fact that I'd added salad to it balanced the scales a little, and took it back to my 'desk'. With the sandwich poised in mid-air in one hand, I managed to lose myself in the information popping up on the screen. The skip appeared to be your average, every day, auto thief on the surface. Stealing cars from the grocery store parking lot, but as I started to read over the police reports, one key detail stuck out at me. The cars this guy stole were always full of groceries. And the groceries were never recovered.

Odd.

I delved a little deeper in the file, checking his employment history, but there was nothing that would indicate that he was stealing the cars for the food. He had a decent wage, didn't appear to be on drugs, or an alcoholic. They guy didn't even smoke from what I could tell. He always paid his bills on time. And when I tracked his bank card transactions it actually appeared that he bought groceries every week. Including the times when he was picked up for auto theft.

So what was going on here?

The turkey sandwich returned to the plate untouched as I lost myself in my first Boston mystery. I'd been worried that my skills wouldn't translate to the new location, since a lot of the insights I gave the Merry Men back in Trenton were based on my knowledge of and connections with the Burg, but it seemed I was wrong. Knowing what I know of the Merry Men both here and back home, I could say with confidence that this guy's reason for stealing the cars would not have mattered to them. Their job was to bring the criminal back into the system. And the easiest way to do that was by brute force.

What was the point of continually booking a man for the same crime without getting to the very heart of the matter?

As the final program finished compiling it's results, I hit print on all the files and hurried to the copy room to collect the pages, carrying them back to my makeshift desk where I poured over them, ignoring my lunch and the ever increasing growls of my stomach. I was too far down the rabbit hole to notice that I was still hungry. Until someone waved a hand in front of my face, grabbing my attention as they pulled a chair over beside me and sat down.

"Ms Plum?" he asked.

"Steph" I said automatically. "Please. Call me Steph."

"Right. Steph," he agreed, with a polite nod. "I couldn't help noticing that your midsection appears to be singing the song of its people, and I was wondering if you were planning on feeding it that sandwich sitting on your desk, or if there was some other method you had of appeasing the beast."

As if to prove the man's point, my stomach made a loud gurgling sound, vibrating my entire body with its ferocity. How on earth had I managed to ignore that? "Wow," I said, laying a hand on the offending noise maker. "I'm surprised the guys back in Trenton aren't calling to complain about the racket."

"Rangeman buildings and the rooms within them are fairly well sound proofed," the man informed me, as though placating a concern I'd raised. "However, given that the door to the break room is always open, your stomach growling _has_ been the cause of some distraction over the last hour or so."

 _Hour or so?!_ I thought to myself. Surely it hadn't actually been that long! But a glance at the clock screen saver on my laptop was all I needed to confirm. 2.45pm. I'd let my interest in the case consume every part of my brain and neglected to eat the lunch I'd prepared for myself. "Sorry," I said, picking up the sandwich and taking a huge bite. "I tend to get tunnel vision when I think I'm on to something. The guys back home swear it's a blessing, but it's mostly a curse."

"What are you working on?" the guy, who's name I was still yet to learn, asked curiously, shifting his chair a little closer so that he could check out the file and papers spread out in front of me as well as the notes I'd made on the yellow note pad. "Oh," he said, surprised, straightening his back a little. "This is that grocery store car thief I'm supposed to pick up."

Quickly checking the search request sheet attached to the front of the folder, I deduced that the man sitting beside me must be Jerry.

"Yeah," I confirmed. "I was just going through the search results to see if I could figure out what his deal is."

Jerry shook his head. "I don't need to know what his deal is to grab him and bring him in," he pointed out. "I just need a list of relevant addresses."

I felt my face screw up of its own accord, contorting into a picture of confusion. "Martin O'Farrell has stolen four cars from the same grocery store parking lot in the last six months," I explained. "Each time the owner reported that the car was full of groceries at the time it was stolen. And each time the groceries were conspicuously missing when the car was recovered."

Jerry shrugged, like the details didn't matter. "And?"

"And I wanted to know where the groceries were going," I said.

"That's not our job," he said.

"Maybe not," I agreed. "But I think I figured it out anyway."

The look Jerry gave me was so full of boredom and disinterest that I almost stopped there, giving up on explaining what I thought was happening based on my findings. But then I remembered that the reason I was here – the professional, on paper reason – was to assist the Boston crew in improving their search techniques. I couldn't do that if I gave up on the first guy. Jerry was going to learn something today whether he liked it or not.

"Most criminals have a cause to justify why they're doing whatever illegal activity they're doing, right?" I started, taking another bite of my now soggy sandwich while he reluctantly nodded his head in agreement. "Well, I learned early on that Mr. O'Farrell's cause was not centred on himself. He has a steady job with a decent wage and doesn't appear to have any kind of financial woes as far as I can see. The likelihood of him stealing the cars for financial gain seemed pretty slim. Add to this the conundrum of the missing groceries and you have yourself a mystery. So I started looking at his social activities and the like."

Jerry just looked at me like I was insane. We clearly were not on the same page on this case, but that was okay.

"Every day, Mr. O'Farrell drives home through what I believe is a rather low income area, based on my online searches. In particular a small community centre where children and families often gather to share their limited resources and make sure they were all getting their needs met. I noticed it, only because he appears to have made several donations to the centre over the past few years. From there it didn't take much digging to find a post on the community centre's Facebook page thanking God for the anonymous donation of groceries to keep their community alive and well in a time of need."

"Great sleuth work," Jerry said, and I thought I detected a hint of sarcasm. "Truly heart wrenching. But what's the point. Knowing what he's doing with the groceries he steals isn't going to help me catch him."

I frowned. He was so closed minded. "It'll help you appeal to him more and get him to come with you without putting up a fight."

"I only had a brief read of his police report, but I don't think he's going to be that much of an issue," Jerry assured me.

"The man help innocent people at gun point and stole their cars," I pointed out.

"But he didn't actually shoot anyone," Jerry countered. "Sounds like a coward to me. Easy peasy."

I rolled my eyes. "Then why did you leave the request in my in tray?" I asked. "You clearly don't care what I have to say."

"Can't disobey direct orders," Jerry shrugged, standing and reaching across me and my turkey sandwich to attempt to gather up all the papers. Presumably so he could leave and ignore any advice I might have given him on the matter.

I snapped my hands down on top of the file, narrowly avoiding slapping Jerry's hands in the process. "You're not leaving with this file," I said sternly. "I've been tasked with improving search techniques and providing my insights into the cases that cross my desk. And that's what I'm going to do."

He stared into my eyes for a long moment, clearly searching for a weakness or a way to distract me, but I hardened my glare as much as I could, channelling Tank's laser eye effect that I'd seen him use on Lester across the conference table on numerous occasions. It must have worked to some degree, because he sighed and sat back down.

"What do I have to do?" he asked reluctantly.

I smiled triumphantly at him, shuffling the papers back into order and slotting them back inside the folder. "Call your partner and have him go around to all the guys who live on site. Get him to ask for donations of any food that might be close to expiring that they're not going to eat, or that they have an over abundance of. Put it all in a box and have him meet us in the parking garage."

"There's no us," Jerry said. "You haven't been cleared for field work."

"I can fix that," I said, whipping out my phone and hitting speed dial 2 for Tank. I was not above using my connections to get my own way if it meant showing this non-believer that there are more civil ways of doing things.

* * *

 _ **Thank you for being so patient.**_


	21. Chapter 21

_About a week ago I started thinking about NaNoWriMo and how I should probably spend more time working on my writing and actually develop my own original ideas and characters and write and finish a story that isn't fanfiction. I then discovered that Camp NaNoWriMo runs in April and July and I could set my own goals for it. I decided that I would participate in the July run of Camp NaNoWriMo, but I didn't have a story idea in my head to kick start that original work thing that I wanted to do. But my bestie suggested I work on finishing my Fanfic, so that's where we are. I will be attempting to add 30 000 words to this fanfiction by the end of July, and will be updating here as chapters are completed._

 **Chapter 21**

"I still don't understand how this is supposed to work," Jerry said as he brought the SUV to a stop by the curb two blocks away from the community centre where O'Farrell spent his Saturdays afternoons playing basketball with the kids. I don't know _why_ he was so confused about my plan. I'd explained it to him four times. Once when he refused to call his partner into action until he knew what my intentions were. Once when he didn't understand the concept right away And then twice more when we met Shock in the parking garage and had to get him up to speed. I'd also fielded a myriad of questions on the way here. It appeared that my main challenge while in Boston wasn't going to be expanding their search techniques, but opening their eyes to new, non-aggressive ways of doing things.

I'm sure these men understood the concepts I was putting forth, the problem was their willingness to try something new right now. I was unprepared for their resistance, having gotten used to the easy going openness of the Trenton men. Back home I had the advantage of Ranger's influence and respect to encourage the men to give my ideas a chance, along our shared history. The Trenton men had witnessed me succeed on my own and had experienced my methods first had when they tagged along as extra protection when there was a threat against me. They had respected the fact that they were extras on my cases and let me take the lead.

Hopefully, if this case worked out, the Boston crew would open their minds to my ways of doing things. If they open their minds they'll be able to learn much more.

I let out a sigh, leaning forward as far as my seatbelt would let me. "Everyone has a reason for doing what they're doing," I explained. _Again._ "You're used to the reason being violent, which makes their aversion to being brought into the system violent as well." I gave them a moment to let that sink in, but not too long a moment. I could already tell I was trying their patience. "O'Farrell's reason for his crime was to help people in need. So by appealing to that side of his nature, we can hopefully convince him to come with us without causing a scene."

Shock turned to face me, and even though I was mentally prepared for the effects of his eternally surprised expression, the timing sent a need to explain and calm him down bolting through my stomach.

"How often have you done this kind of take down?" he asked, eyeing me carefully with the blankest expression his eyebrows would allow.

"It's my preferred method," I replied easily. "If I can do my job without the need for weapons and tackling, I will."

Jerry rolled his eyes in the rear view mirror. He was such a non-believer. He'd fought me every step of the way on this, even going so far as to take phone from me and try to convince Tank to reconsider his decision to overrule Hugh's strict rules on qualifying for field work. I knew Tank would allow me out. I may not be the best man in the field, but I got by, and Tank had already experienced my cabin fever more than anyone should ever have to. He didn't want to force that on anyone else. Getting me out of the building was in everyone's best interests. The benefits (ensuring I didn't go stir crazy and aggravate my colleagues) far outweighed the risks (the possibility that I would get myself or members of the team injured due to my lack of training). Though I should point out that if hal were a part of the team, the scales would have tipped in a different direction. Unfortunately, the trouble I tended to attract always seemed to get him hurt in one way or another. It had gotten to the point where I was not allowed to partner with Hal unless it was absolutely necessary.

"You're such a girl," Jerry informed me. "I can't believe the Trenton guys follow you around like lost puppies. Does this stuff really work? Or do they just make you think it does?"

Gritting my teeth, I shifted back in my seat once more, making a conscious effort to keep my hands to myself. I'd had quite enough of his bullshit, and my first instinct right now was grab his shirt collar. I had to chalk that up to the fact of all the stress in my life lately, because I wasn't usually a violent person. Hence the techniques I was trying to teach these guys.

My original plan had been to win these men over by just being myself. It worked in Trenton, so why shouldn't it work in Boston? Apparently the Bostonites were far too cynical to be won over simply because the Trenton guys endorsed me and because I was trying to help them expand their skill sets. I'd have to change tactics. Fight dirty.

"Twenty bucks says neither of your have to use your guns or chase after the skip," I said.

Jerry levelled a narrow eyed expression at me in the mirror. Probably, they'd all been warned of the dangers of betting on the outcome of my life. "Deal," he said slowly.

Shock, I noticed, was shaking his head. "You're gonna get yourself killed," he told his partner quietly. "Tank already ordered you to the mats with Mungo in the morning, now you're going against direct orders by placing bets on her?"

"Technically," I interrupted before Jerry could reply. "The bet is on you guys. And since I'm the one who initiated it, it doesn't count. What the Trenton guys meant by not placing bets on my life was how long it takes before I blow something up, or roll in garbage."

"But don't they do that back in Trenton?" Jerry asked, his tone sneering. "I swear I've heard tell of them placing bets all over your life. How come it's one rule for them and another for us?"

"The Trenton guys haven't bet on my life in four years," I said on a sigh. "They respect me in a way no one else ever has, so when I asked them to stop, they did. I had hoped that I would receive a similar level of acceptance here, given that it is the same company and should hold the same views, but you keep proving me wrong. Your attitude is anything but accepting. I don't know what you expected of me, but clearly you're not receiving it, because I feel like you're all disappointed in me."

"Woah," Shock said, holding up his hands in the classic 'calm down' gesture, his eyebrows shooting up even further than usual. "No one is intentionally disrespecting you. We're just used to a certain way of doing things. We're highly regimented, we have our routines, structures and protocols. What you're suggesting we do right now goes against everything we know. It feels like stepping out of line. And then we have the Trenton guys breathing down our necks. Every time we turn around there's a new memo threatening bodily harm if anything happens to you."

"Not to mention the fact that you went straight over Hugh's head by getting Tank to clear you for field work before you've passed the proper checks," Jerry added bitterly.

A heavy sigh fell from my lips. They'd both made very good points. I needed to calm down a minute and give the men some time to adjust. And also get in touch with the Trenton to tell them to lay off the threats. They were counterproductive. If the men were afraid of doing the wrong thing by me because the Trenton guys are threatening them, they're never going to be comfortable with me. And probably, I should go back to adhering to Hugh's rules instead of bending the rules to my will. I wanted the Boston guys to like me and respect me, but I wasn't respecting them in return by getting Tank to sign my notes to give me permission to do things that the policy says I'm not allowed to do yet.

I needed to respect them, but they also needed to respect me. Bronson had pranked me even before I'd gotten Tank to overrule protocol. And Jerry certainly wasn't a willing candidate in my research feedback endeavour.

"I was sent here to share my skill and insights," I reminded them. "The Trenton office has apparently learned a lot about their searches by having me on board, and Tank and Hugh wanted to share it around. That's the official reason for me being here, and if I'm being honest, it probably would have happened eventually anyway. But –"

I realised I was staring at my hands at this point and had to stop. If I was really planning on telling these men the reason my visit came around so abruptly, I should at least have the decency to look them in the eye, right? Taking a deep breath, I raised my head, my mouth open and ready to form the words to explain the situation with Morelli, but Shock cut me off.

"We know that there were extenuating circumstances in your personal life which prompted your transfer," he assured me, correctly interpreting my silence. "We've been warned not to pry into your life as you know, and we don't expect you to share the information with us. Especially when we're being asses." He sent Jerry a pointed look.

"Everyone has made decisions that could have been better," Jerry conceded, finally turning around in his seat to face me properly. "And I'm sure we'll do better to consider the effects of our actions in the future."

I nodded. "And I'll talk to the guys back home to leave you all alone," I assured them.

Shock started to smile, clearly relieved that we'd gotten past the tension that had filled the car a few minutes ago. "Brilliant," he enthused. "But right now, I'm interested in how giving up some food that's about to go bad could possibly make a man come quietly."

"It's all about appealing to the individual's passion," I explained, grateful to have been given a reprieve. "I once lured a woman back to the station with a packet of chips."

The men both blinked at me. I couldn't tell if they were amazed at my apparent skill or if they were shocked I'd managed to get by with so _little_ skill. Or even, if perhaps they were trying not to laugh at me. Probably, they were so far down the rabbit hole with their healthy lifestyle stuff that they were questioning the appeal of a packet of chips to a desperate woman and whether it did, indeed, hold the power to get someone to follow a girl back to jail.

"Right," Shock uttered. "Anyway, let's go over the game plan one more time before we start lugging these boxes down the street."

*o*

"I can't believe that actually worked," Jerry said as we all piled out of the SUV back in the Rangeman parking garage. My plan had been a success (thank God), and I was now twenty dollars richer. The men had marvelled over the ease of Mr O'Farrell's capture the entire way home from the station. It was as if they'd never had a non-violent experience with a positive outcome before. At least not on the job.

"Not every case warrants kicking down doors and barging in with guns a-blazing," I shrugged, leading the way to the elevator and hitting the call button, smiling to myself when Jerry and Shock fell into place on either side of me instead of making a bee line for the stairwell, which I'm sure would have been their go to before our heart to heart in the SUV earlier.

"My takedown report is gonna be so epic," Shock enthused, bouncing on the balls of his feet as we waited. "And not in the way it usually is."

I just smiled. It felt good to prove to them that my way could work, especially with how excited they were about it. Not even the Merry Men back in Trenton ever got this excited after a successful capture without any action on it. It made me wonder what exactly a normal day in the life of a Boston Rangeman was like. Were they so tense and regimented that they didn't have any freedom in their take down techniques at all? Tank had made it seem like I'd just be showing the guys a few things in the search department, and sure Lester had warned me of their strictures, but this was a whole other level.

What had I actually signed on for here?

The elevator came while Shock was still going on about how epic his report was going to be, and we all stepped into the little box, falling silent for the first time since receiving the body receipt back at the station. Suddenly, the events of the week caught up to me and I was feeling extremely tired. Every day had been a rollercoaster of emotions. I'd learned two of my best friends were a couple, been accused of being a slut in front of practically the entire town, uprooted my life and moved to another state, and been met with a myriad of different reactions here. As the doors of the elevator slid open a yawn slid from my mouth and I had to wonder how I was possibly going to make it through the couple hours of work I still had left.

"Don't forget to write your take down report, Steph," Jerry said as he stepped out ahead of me.

My mouth – still open on that yawn – snapped shut so fast I almost bit my own tongue off. That caught me off guard. I'd never actually written a takedown report before. Generally, if I was doing take downs, I was doing them for Vinnie, and just using Rangeman resources to dig a little deeper into the perp's history. No one had ever told me to do a report, or shown me how to write one.

"Uhh," I uttered after a second had passed. Jerry had already disappeared into the maze of cubicles, but Shock was holding the doors for me, waiting for me to exit.

"Man," Jerry uttered, "The Trenton crew must _really_ like you if they didn't even make you report? Are you sure you're a Rangeman employee?"

I shrugged. "I get paid just like everyone else, but now I'm wondering how much of that was just Ranger trying to find a way around my aversion to being a charity case so that he could show his generosity." I took the necessary steps forward to be on the command floor properly so that Shock could let the elevator go. "How do I write a takedown report?"

Shock glanced from me to the cubicles and back. "I'll show you," he offered.

"Your place or mine?" I asked.

"Definitely yours," Shock said firmly. "You look like you could use a coffee and it'll be easier to just set ourselves up at your desk."

* * *

 ** _It's important to remember that what I am posting is not what I have just finished writing. So while I will keep you up to date with a NaNoWriMo word count every time I post this month, it will not be indicative of the chapters I am posting. (I hope that makes sense)_**

 ** _Camp NaNoWriMo Word Count: 3270_**


	22. Chapter 22

_I seem to have settled into a work day writing routine, but it relies heavily on watching an episode of a TV show and then telling myself I'm not allowed to watch the next episode until I've reached my daily word goal. This motivator can can only last so long, as I'm already halfway through the last season out, but whatever gets the words on the page, right?_

 **Chapter 22**

The tech lab at Boston Rangeman was a startling place to find myself. I'd visited Hector's lab back home a few times over the years and it all seemed perfectly organised. Hector like everything in its place and was meticulous about keeping it organised and tidy. He even installed extra security and surveillance to ensure no one ever messed with his stuff.

Hank, being the other tech guy in Trenton, had more access to the lab than the average Merry Man, but even he was apprehensive about being in the lab, to the point where he conducted most of his work from his own cubicle on the command floor, even if it was a little cramped in the small space. He'd once expressed the concern that if he opened up a cupboard or drawer that he wasn't supposed to, he'd be met with severed body parts, lying in neat little rows with clear labels on them.

Harry's lab, though, was a disaster zone. I'd seen the aftermath of a lot of bombs in my five years as a fugitive apprehension agent, and the scene I was met with when I pushed open the door marked 'The Hattery' was definitely reminiscent of one. There were wires and cords exploding rom boxes, drawers, and cupboard. Broken pieces of technology, and other items I had no hop of identifying, lay scattered on benches, stools and any other stationary, relatively flat surface. There were sheaths of paper and overused-looking notebooks spread across piles and held open by yet more paraphernalia. And then there were the tools, lying around haphazardly, like they'd dropped out of the users hands in the middle of a task and instantly been forgotten. There was even a light smoke emitting from a pile of mangled devices on one of the work benches. All that was missing was that smell that seemed to cling to my hair and skin for days, even after showering multiple times.

I'd called ahead to make sure Harry was there before coming down, but standing in the doorway as I examined the scene before me, I could see no sign of him. Nor his partner Heath, whom I'd been assured hardly ever left the lab.

"Hello?" I called out, taking a single step further into the room. "Harry?" There was no reply. "Heath?"

Upon hearing his name, the man in question snapped his head up, revealing his location tangled amongst a pile of wires. He appeared started, the thick lenses of his glasses doing nothing to disguise the way his eyes widened when he caught sight of me.

"Female," he uttered quietly, slowly shaking his head from side to side as he deftly removed his hands from the mess of wires, and backing away from me. "Female, he said again, an odd note to his voice. Shaky. "Female," he said for a third time, and this time it was clear that he was panicking. "Female… _Female… Female!"_

"Heath, calm down," a voice I instantly recognised as Harry's said from directly behind me. "It's just Stephanie Plum. She's not going to hurt you."

Realising that I was still standing in the doorway, which was blocking Harry's entrance. I stepped to the side with a muttered apology. Harry swept into the room, waving me off, his focus on Heath, who was shaking like a leaf in the middle of a hurricane.

"Female!" Heath repeated, louder and more panicked now He appeared to be attempting to lock eyes with Harry, trying to convey his issues, but every other second his gaze flicked to me.

"I swear, I didn't do anything to him," I told Harry as he grabbed the man's shoulders and started speaking softly to him. "All I did was call out your names to get your attention and he started-"

"FEMALE!" Heath yelled.

"Doing that," I ended lamely.

Harry glanced over his shoulder at me, his expression a mixture of emotions that I didn't have the time or familiarity to decipher before he shook his head and turned back to Heath. He spoke firmly but quietly to the man for a minutes and I decided it would probably be best if I stayed quiet at least until Harry could calm him down.

Heath's gaze was still snapping back to me, but the space between each glance lengthened each tie until he was staring steadily into Harry's eyes, completely ignoring my presence.

"How about you head on up to your apartment?" Harry suggested, his voice returning to a normal volume, presumably so that I could hear him and assist in some way. It was like when my mother would talk to my sister with that pointed tone after I'd done something wrong. Instead of telling me to go to my room she would tell Valerie that I was going to go to my room and stay there until I could behave appropriately. It made me feel like I was worth more than nothing. Not even worth the direct conversation. My defence rose in reaction, ready to give Harry a piece of my mind, until I realised that his tone was different. I could tell that he was doing it not to make me feel like shit, but so that I would know what to do without him addressing me directly, which I figured would restart Heath's freak out.

"You're going to walk with me out to the corridor," Harry went on. "Keep looking in my eyes. There's no need to look anywhere else. Stephanie isn't going to be anywhere near you. She's going to be at the opposite end of the hallway. You're not going to look for her. You're going to keep looking into my eyes until you're inside the elevator. Do you understand?"

As Heath nodded slowly, I backed as quietly as I could out of the lab, trying not to make any noise that would draw the terrified man's attention to me. Once out the door, I jogged down the length of the corridor away from the elevators. I didn't stop until I reached the end where the door to the medical suite was. I leaned against the door, trying to understand what I'd done to cause such an adverse reaction from the man. I'd never seen anything like it.

I watched as Harry backed out of the lab, his hands still clasped on Heath's shoulders as he appeared. Harry was keeping up a steady stream of words that I couldn't hear from this distance, but as he paused to draw in a breath his eyes darted to me for a split second, as though he was ensuring that I was out of the way.

Heath's head twitched o the side to follow the quick focus change, but Harry stopped the action with a swift grip change, moving his hands from the man's shoulders to either side of his head, right in line with his eyes so that he was blocking his view to the sides, like blinkers on a horse.

Swiftly, Harry guided Heath toward the elevator, continuing to talk to the man as he maintained eye contact. Tension filled the air as they waited for the box to arrive. Every moment that passed had the potential to undo the work both men had done to get to this point. I held my breath, aware that even the smallest noise from me could send Heath over the edge once more.

The doors sprung open. Harry dragged Heath inside. My chest was starting to ache with the effort of not breathing. Then, finally, Harry re-emerged, the doors closed and I let out my breath on a loud gush.

Harry stood at the far end of the hall, hands on hips head bowed so that all I could see was the top of his cowboy hat. He appeared to be breathing heavily, a state I could sympathise with. That was the most intense and high-anxiety experience I'd ever had inside a Rangeman building. With the possible exception of yesterday when I thought I'd poisoned a man because he was screaming in fake agony from a pretend injection.

Somehow, working with the Boston crew had me on edge more than I could have imagined.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked after a few minutes, lifting his head to meet my gaze. His eyes were full of concern, his brow furrowed as he examined me closely from the distance he still held.

A short laugh left my throat before I could stop it. The question seemed so wrong. "Am _I_ okay?" I questioned incredulously, pushing off the door. "Shouldn't I be asking if _Heath_ is okay? What the hell just happened?"

"It's a long story," Harry explained. "In a perfect world, I would say that it's Heath's story to tell, but given what you just witnessed, I think you can guess why that wouldn't work."

"He's afraid of women?"

"Gynophobia," a voice said directly behind me, and unfortunately for me, with all the tension newly released from my body, I was startled into falling onto my ass as my knees gave way. "Oh shit," the voice added, almost matter-of-factly as I fell.

" _Now_ are you okay, Steph?" Harry asked, with a slight shake of the head as he jogged the last few steps to where I now sat in the middle of the hall way.

"I'm fine," I assured him lumbering to my feet. "I just got startled by the sudden voice from behind me." Having righted myself, I now looked to the man who must have been the source of the voice. "Ranger is right; I really do need to be more aware of my surroundings," I added. "I'm Steph, by the way, but you probably already knew that."

I extended my hand to the man, which he took in his without hesitation. "Stitch," he reciprocated. "I've been warned that we might be spending a fair amount of time together." He said it as a joke, I figured. He was the medic, after all, and as such would be dealing with any injuries I may incur during my time in Boston, but it rankled a little. Of course the guys here would be well versed in my propensity to injure myself, Lester was almost as big a gossip as the entire Burg combined, and of course, Bobby had forwarded my medical history to Stitch, but to assume that my record would be consistent when I was this far removed from my stomping ground. I liked to think that a lot of my bad luck came from the setting, which would mean that being in Boston would lower my car bombings and dumpster diving significantly, right?

"Hopefully, we can keep it to a minimum," I replied. "I'm sure you're a perfectly nice guy, but I've been injured enough in the last five years to last me a lifetime. I'm really banking on this enforced training regime to reduce the amount of time I spend in hospitals and the infirmary." Both men chuckled. My point of view was that anything that kept me away from the hospital was a good thing, and I'm sure these men would feel the same if they'd ever had the experience my in-hospital impatience. With time, they would learn.

"Well," Stitch uttered, stepping forward and pulling the medical suite door closed behind him, extending his hand to me in the same motion. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Steph. I hope the next time we meet will not have you in any kind of pain."

I shook his hand, offering a smile at the fact that he seemed to agree with my opinion. "Me too."

He nodded, tipping an imaginary had towards Harry, who returned it with a very real hat tip, and strolled down the corridor in the direction of the elevator. Harry and I both watched him until he'd disappeared into the stairwell.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry questioned, cutting only his eyes to me as the door swung closed at the other end of the hallway.

"Perfectly fine," I confirmed. "My ass has been through a lot worse."

Harry shook his head slightly, averting his eyes. "I meant with the Heath thing," he said quietly. "I know it can be confronting, especially if you're not prepared for it. If you need to talk about it I'm more than willing to listen, or if you would prefer I could get one of the other men."

"Harry, I've been confronted with a lot of things in my time working as a bounty hunter. I'll be fine."

His grey eyes held mine as we stood in the middle of the deserted hallway. "There's no shame in talking about your feelings," he assured me. "Keeping them bottled up inside isn't healthy."

He was so sincere in his statement and his concern for my wellbeing that I found it hard to maintain eye contact. "I'm not really the talk-about-my-feelings kind of girl," I told him. And it was absolutely true. My family had never been one to sit down and talk about difficult situations or divulge emotions verbally. If we were happy, we ate, if we were sad, we ate, if we were angry, we ate, or threw the food across the table. When I thought about it, it was a miracle my entire family wasn't obese.

Tossing a rogue curl out of my face, I stared back down the hall, heading for the tech lab once more. "Now let's get this phone update over with," I called over my shoulder when he didn't immediately follow. "I still have to see Barrel before I retire to my apartment to agonise over what I'm gonna ruin for dinner."

A raised eyebrow was sent my way, full of questions as I pushed the lab door open once more and waited for him to lead the way inside. I sighed. "Cooking isn't my forte."

* * *

 ** _Thanks go, as always, to those of you who have taken the time to send feedback._**

 ** _Camp Nanowrimo word count: 7104_**


	23. Chapter 23

_I've been told that electric kettles are not a common household appliance in America? This confuses me greatly. Is this really a thing?_

 **Chapter 23**

"Lesson number one," Uncle Suzan proclaimed, trying up his apron and chucking a second in my direction. "How to boil water."

It was Sunday, my day off, and after the conversation with Harry last night, I'd organised with Uncle Suzan to take him up on his offer to teach me how to cook. Harry provided the contact details in order to put the wheels in motion and had even offered to drive me over to Suzan's Diner this morning. I'd thanked him for his thoughtfulness, but ultimately declined. If I was going to find my feet in this city, I needed to be able to be independent, so instead of taking the safe route and having Harry navigate the unfamiliar streets for me, I bit the metaphorical bullet and followed the instructions of the cool female voice on the GPS unit that was present in all Rangeman fleet vehicles to get to my destination.

"I already know how to boil water," I pointed out with a slight laugh. "I'm not completely useless. That's what a kettle is for."

Suzan stared at me for a full minute and I got the feeling by the expression on his face that he was trying to decide how serious I was about my statement. Unfortunately I was well accustomed to this face. Morelli would fix it in place whenever I mentioned something that was verging on the side of illegal, Ranger got it when he was pretty sure I was lying but didn't have the time to get me to admit the truth, and the guys used it whenever I claimed to have already done my workout that day. The way his pale eyes stared at me started making me uncomfortable after about ten seconds, but that didn't mean I had the ability to make it stop. I'd already made the realisation that my words had been idiotic. I had no way of taking them back, and I felt confident that Suzan wasn't going to believe any attempts I made at turning it into a joke.

Eventually, he took in a deep breath for strength, I assume, (that was another thing I was familiar with) and gave a slight shake of his head. Reaching behind him he grabbed a notebook from the bench and handed it to me wordlessly along with a pen.

"The kettle may work for coffee and instant ramen," he said, pulling out a pot and placing it on the bench in front of me, "But if you're going to learn to cook, you're going to do it properly. That means learning to cook staples. Rice, pasta, things that will fill you up, that you can mix and match with any number of meals."

I nodded wordlessly, watching him closely and waiting for my first instruction.

Suzan stared back.

The hustle and bustle from the main kitchen area meant that there wasn't exactly silence between us, but it didn't make his lack of words any more comfortable.

"What size pot is this?" I asked, pointing to the saucepan he'd set down beside me.

"Medium," he said shortly, gesturing to the notebook he'd given me. As I quickly jotted that down, Suzan instructed, "Got fill it three quarters of the way to the top and place it on the stove."

I followed Suzan's instructions to the letter for the best part of the day being sure to write down each and every step with as much detail as possible. Suzan made a point of not doing anything for me, only instructing and inspecting and showing me what to look for. I burned a couple of batches of cookies and muffins, but Suzan didn't yell at me or scold me. He just got me to try again.

By three o'clock that afternoon I had several plastic containers full of food that would likely feed me for at least a week. Two of the larger containers were full of just rice and pasta, and then there were containers of chicken stir fry, bolognaise sauce, cheese and bacon muffins, chocolate chip cookies and pumpkin soup. If I went hungry this week it would be my own stupid fault for not eating, because I now had plenty of meals. Uncle Suzan helped me load it all into the back of the SUV and I thanked him about a thousand times before he pulled me into an abrupt hug and shoved me behind the wheel, shutting the door behind me.

I'd figured out that Suzan was a generous soul, but didn't like to admit it or draw attention to the fact. My thanks had been too much for him so he was sending me on my way before he had to deal with emotions or anything else that might spontaneously start to happen.

When I'd fastened my seatbelt, I powered down the window intending to give him one last vote of thanks before I left, but he'd already disappeared back into his diner.

*o*

I pulled into the relative familiarity of the underground parking garage and parked in the spot designated for the fleet vehicle I had borrowed. Number twenty-three, just so you are aware, which is only two spots away from the furthest you can possibly get from the elevator. Even when it's assigned parking I have terrible luck. I went about ensuring that nothing had fallen out of my handbag when it tipped over during transit, and stepped out of the vehicle with a smile on my face and my heart swelling with pride over the day's achievements until I caught sight of Yetti, dressed in a pair of stark white, disposable overalls, coming my way with a serious expression on his face.

My heart sank to my boots.

Last time he'd worn a jumpsuit like that he'd confiscated all the snacks Ella had sent with me. That had been devastating enough, and I hadn't even gone to the time and effort of making them myself. This time, I'd spent all day literally slaving over a hot stove in order to produce the edible meals that sat in the back seat of the SUV. If he took this away from me, I could not be held responsible for my actions. You can't just take away a woman's food, it's going to have adverse effects.

"Ms. Plum," he greeted, his tone just as serious as his face, if not more so.

"It's Steph," I reminded him, feigning a polite, airiness that I definitely wasn't feeling at that moment. Every muscle in my body was tensed and ready to defend my food. To the death if needed. "How can I help you?"

"Just coming over to check on you," he explained nonchalantly, shrugging his wide shoulders. His serious expression hadn't changed though, so I was unable to take him at his word. "Don't forget to rinse your mouth and wash your hands before for heading upstairs."

I nodded and moved cautiously to the back door of the SUV, opening it and pulling out the large carrier bags of food Uncle Suzan had sent me home with. I watched Yetti carefully from the corner of my eye as I shifted the load into a more comfortable position, silently daring him to take the bags off me, and used my elbow to shut the door.

"Looks like a productive day," Yetti commented, nodding to the bags. "You need a hand getting it all to the elevator?"

I couldn't hold it back any longer. "Are you going to confiscate my food again?" I blurted, shying away from him as he reached to relieve me of my bag. "Because I am not okay with that. I worked hard on this. I didn't touch any nuts all day, and neither did Suzan. It's clean. I promise you there are no contaminants in any of it. Please don't take it all away. You don't know how imp-"

"Woooaaaahhhhh," Yetti said in a low voice, holding up his hands in a _hold your horses_ kind of gesture. "I'm not taking your food from you. I trust you to make informed decisions now that you are aware of the circumstances. And my Uncle already called ahead to assure me that all the food you're bringing into the building today was made with his supervision. Plus Uncle Suzan's is a nut free zone. You're good. Your food is safe. I was legitimately just offering to assist you with it all. It's a lot more than I was expecting."

"B-but you're in that suit again," I pointed out, nodding to the white jumpsuit.

"I'm waiting on a delivery," he explained. "I have to inspect it before it can enter the building proper. This is all just a case of bad timing."

The air rushed out of my lungs in an unrestrained gush, relief sweeping over me so swiftly that I had to lean against the car behind me. "Thank god," I muttered. "I was not looking forward to starving for the next week."

Yetti shook his head lightly and relieved me off my bags. "The fact that you've managed to survive this long and not be the size of a house from subsisting on fast food is a true act of god," he informed me, leading me across the garage to the small wash room where I washed my face and hands and rinsed with mouthwash.

"Cooking is my mother's thing," I shrugged, taking over the lead and pressing the call button for the elevator. "We don't exactly see eye to eye in most situations, so I guess not learning to cook was part of me rebelling against her dictatorship."

"Sounds like some deep seeded familial issues you have going on there," Yetti commented, depositing my bags on the ground beside my feet once I was inside the little box that would take me up to the fourth floor. "But I'm glad you're taking some time out to focus on what you want and need instead of what the world says you are. I'd hate to see a strong willed woman like you waste away into a cookie cutter suburban housewife. This life suits you and it's about time you learned the ropes properly so that you can really thrive."

I nodded my thanks as he stepped back and the doors began to close. It was encouraging to hear his words, but something about what he said struck me in a way I wasn't sure how to deal with. This was at least the fifth mention of me not knowing the proper protocol and processes and how it was unheard of for an employee who had been with the company for as long as I had, even part time. It made me wonder why I hadn't been forced into learning my role properly. Did the Trenton men really take me seriously if they couldn't even think enough of me to teach me how things really worked?

* * *

 _ **Camp Nanowrimo Word count: 9665**_


	24. Chapter 24

_Thanks, as always, to everyone who continues to support my writing endeavours, such as they are. One day I'll learn to write a whole story (and edit it) before posting (maybe). But in the meantime, you get to enjoy (or endure?) the unfiltered musings of my imagination. Well... slightly filtered. Anyway, here's a new chapter. Have fun._

 **Chapter 24**

The act of entering my apartment with my arms full of food bags was so familiar that I could almost consider it one of the cornerstones of my life. Whether it was a brown paper bag of leftovers from dinner at my parents' house, o a bag of fast food bought at the drive-thru on a last-minute, exhaustion- fuelled decision, my body was well versed in setting down the parcel and unloading the contents either onto a plate or into the fridge. What I didn't realise, though, was that feeding and debriefing with Rex was a big part of that ritual. It wasn't until all the containers were stowed in the fridge and I'd turned toward the counter with a small piece of broccoli in hand and an anecdote about dish rags and stove tops on my lips that I remembered that I'd left Rex back in Trenton under the care and supervision of Tank.

He'd seemed like the best option at the time. I didn't want to traumatise the little guy with the plane trip, not after he'd moved house so many times in his life already. Tank was the most mature of the men. He had a proven ability to keep small, dependent creatures alive. And he had his own place, so Rex wouldn't have to be subjected to the salty language and inappropriate antics that occur on the residential floor of Rangeman after hours, or be overwhelmed by the sheer volume of men tapping on his glass enclosure if he were to be left in the break room on the command floor.

The down side to this decision was the cats.

Rex was my baby, and as much as I wanted to think that Tank would protect him wih his life in my absence, I had to acknowledge that the _cats_ were _Tank's_ babies. If it was a decision between saving Ambrose, the stumpy-legged, folded-eared, high-needs, favourite cat (don't tell the other four), and my sweet, chubby-cheeked, cool-bro hamster, I knew he'd choose Ambrose every time. Tank had adopted Ambrose after his last government mission, which had apparently gone FUBAR quite quickly. All the cats were a comfort to him, caring for them a way of assuring himself that he was not his past actions. But he had a special bond with Ambrose. Tank's muscles relaxed at the mere sight of the small him, there was no way that he was going to risk Ambrose's life to save Rex, no matter how much he knew the guy meant to me.

And then there was my distrust of the cats themselves. Two of them – Huginn and Mininn – were allowed outside for a couple of hours a day, and in the time I'd stayed in Tank's granny flat I'd caught them both peering in the window, staring hungrily at Rex as he ran obliviously on his wheel more times than I was comfortable with. I felt sure that, given the opportunity, those two nosy felines would delight in making a meal of him.

Thinking about him now, and recalling all my misgivings with leaving him behind, sent a sudden wave of loneliness through me. It was bizarre how I could be surrounded by people all day long, but just a few minutes in my apartment thinking about my hamster had me feeling stranded and alone. I knew that at least part of it had to do with the fact that all my friends and family were back home in Trenton and I had not yet gotten to know the men here well enough to consider them friends the same way I did with most of the Merry Men at Haywood. But the longing for my furry roommate still left me feeling weak, like I should have been able to get through a few more days without missing him as badly as I was at that moment.

I hastily stuffed the broccoli into my mouth and, grimacing at the taste and texture as I began to chew, pulled out my phone and hit speed dial #2.

Tank picked up on the second ring. "Yo" he greeted, sounding genuinely pleased to hear from me in that one syllable. I wondered briefly, and not for the first time in the last few days, when I'd become so adept at reading their cues, or if they had simply started to let their guard down more around me. Breaking in a new set of men had proven more difficult than I'd expected. Had it been this hard with the Trenton guys at first? Or were the Boston guys really as stick-up-the-butt-ish as Lester had alluded to in his warnings.

"Hey," I greeted in return, shaking my head slightly to clear my thoughts. "How's things?"

"Not bad," he said easily, and I distinctly heard Lester's voice in the background asking if Tank was talking to me or if he'd been holding out on Lester by keeping some mystery girlfriend a secret. "As you can probably hear Lester and Bobby are here as well."

"Hi, Lester," I greeted, even though he couldn't hear me. "Hi, Bobby."

"Steph says hi," Tank reluctantly relayed.

"Put her on speaker," Bobby requested, sounding closer than Lester had.

"If she wanted to talk to you," Tank said, his words sounding bitten off, as if he were gritting his teeth, "She would have called you."

Lester's voice barrelled down the line much louder than before, indicating that he'd moved closer to the other two. "That's not fair," he argued. "You spoke to her yesterday."

"So did you," Bobby pointed out.

"Yeah, but only a little bit," Lester whined. "She was mainly talking to you."

"Because I was talking her through how to make sure her chicken breast was cooked all the way through," Bobby explained rather impatiently.

I sighed heavily. I'd been gone less than a week and they'd already descended into petty bickering and a pissing contest over who'd spoken to me more. It would be flattering if I weren't so concerned with the running of the Trenton office. I knew that Tank and the guys had been left in charge countless times while Ranger was in the wind in the past. And I knew that they'd managed perfectly fine without _me_ before I'd come along. But this was the first time both Ranger and I had been out of state at the same time and it was clearly taking a toll on them.

"Tank, just put me on speaker," I said wearily. For all the jokes we'd made about me being a child sent to her first day of school, or her first sleep away camp, they were the ones acting like children at this moment.

"I could just kick them out," Tank offered, while Lester and Bobby continued to argue.

"You'd never hear the end of it," I told him in no uncertain terms. "And neither would I. Just put me on speaker. It's easier."

"You're overestimating how hard it would be for me to beat their asses into the ground," Tank said coolly, but I heard the slight rustle as the phone was dragged away from his ear, and the ambient noise coming down the line changed. "But I'll concede this once."

"Hey Bomber, how was your first day off in Boston?" Bobby asked immediately, ending the bickering abruptly.

I had to stifle a laugh. I couldn't help but envision that scene in The Emperor's New Groove where the kids are having a _nuh-uh/uh-huh_ argument when their mom comes in to say good night and they both stop to quickly say goodnight before returning promptly to their argument. The men really were just like children sometimes, and although I was semi-sure they were mostly joking about the uneven sharing of my phone calls, I made a mental note to make them as equal as possible in the future.

"My day was actually really productive," I replied. "I had my first cooking lesson with Yetti's Uncle Suzan and-"

"Brave man," Lester chipped in.

"- it went well," I continued, ignoring Lester's quip, and proceeded to tell them about my experience in the kitchen. "What about you guys?" I asked several minutes later. "It doesn't sound like you're at the office. You all have the day off at the same time?"

"Yeah," Bobby confirmed. "There was a not so accidental glitch in the rostering for this week, so we're all at Tank's hanging out."

"Poker?" I guessed. It was what usually happened when they gathered in their time off.

"Actually no," Tank said, and there was a slight undertone to his voice that set me on edge. Something was up. "The guys actually came over to, uh, help Rex feel more at home here."

Something was _definitely_ up. Tank seemed okay with having Rex as a housemate for a while, but he was much more a cat person than a rodent person. Bobby had always been rather distant with Rex. And Lester had once referred to Rex as a pudgy rat, and not in an affectionate way either. Then there was the fact that Rex was a very private creature. He didn't like crowds. He didn't like being picked up, or his tank being tapped too often. He tolerated being spoken to, but always retreated to his soup can when the conversation got too personal, or emotional. He was not, in general, a people-hamster. He very much preferred to be left to his own devices. Unless you had a chunk of donut for him.

I tried to envision the guys feeding Rex donuts and failed. Probably, with the little guy under their care he'd been put on a strict diet and exercise regimen that did not, under any circumstances, involve donuts. It was one thing to provide them for me when it was a matter of keeping their balls on the outside of their body, but I didn't think they'd be thoughtful enough to buy a donut for my hamster. Probably, poor Rex was going through sugar withdrawals.

"What do you mean help him feel more at home?" I asked cautiously.

They guys could be incorrigible when together. Scheming and planning and making ridiculous spur of the moment decisions that they actually followed through with. That's how we'd ended up bungy jumping one weekend when Ranger was away on a business trip two years ago. Bobby had accused Tank of being too scared. Tank had denied it. Lester had egged them on and the next thing I knew we were on our way to the nearest bungy site. I shuddered as I recalled the rush of adrenaline as I fell through the air, speeding toward the water below.

"Well," Bobby said slowly, "Tank observed that Rex was looking kinda cooped up in his cage yesterday, and didn't think it was fair that the cats got to roam all over the house whenever they please but he was trapped inside that glass box."

"I suggested we get him a hamster ball," Lester cut in, taking over the story seamlessly. "But Tank pointed out that given that the cats enjoyed playing soccer, it could get a little dicey."

"Especially with Huginn and Muninn," Tank added. "They're mousers, and if the ball were ever to come open they'd most likely go straight into hunt mode."

"Right," Bobby agreed. "So I came up with the idea that we building him a kind of hamster run."

"A series of tunnels leading throughout the house so he can explore safely while in his ball," Tank said.

"With weighted pulley systems so he could go upstairs as well," Lester chimed in.

The more they spoke the more worried I became. Not only was I terrified for the welfare of my hamster child with new information that Huginn and Muninn were _definitely_ looking for a meal out of him. But this hamster run was starting to sound like a giant game of Mouse Trap.

"So this morning we went to the hardware store," Tank continued. "And the pet store. And we spent the day setting up. It's actually pretty cool."

"I'm sending through photos of it now," Lester said.

"Speaking of Rex," I said, my heart in my throat as I waited for the photos to come through. What kind of death trap had they designed to feed my poor baby to Tank's vicious cats? "I was actually calling because I kinda miss him. Where is he now? Can I talk to him?"

"You want to hold a phone conversation with the fur ball?" Lester asked sceptically.

A loud beep in my ear let me know that the photos had arrived and I took a moment to put the phone on speaker while I checked them out. The images that I was met with did nothing to quell my anxiety. For the most part the hamster run was a clear plastic tunnel set up around the perimeter of the rooms, right next to the wall. I was okay with that part. Not much could go wrong that close to the ground. But then I saw the little ramps they'd built into it. I envisioned Rex reaching the top of the hill and not being prepared for the quick descent on the other side. Sometimes he freaked out when he went too fast on his wheel and hand to cling to it until it slowed down enough for him to regain control. This would be infinitely worse.

I swiped to the final photo and my stomach dropped to my feet. I was suddenly feeling rather nauseas and dizzy, which was exactly how I'd felt standing on the edge of that platform with a rope tied to my feet. Fitting, since what I was looking at was essentially the hamster equivalent. A section of plastic tunnel stood vertically, leading from the ground floor up the wall next to the under-stairs cupboard up and over the railing on the second floor.

A choked sound escaped my throat at the sight of it. So much could go wrong with that. If Rex fell from that height he'd be dead. And I really didn't trust Tank's cats not to sabotage it in some way.

"Steph?" Tank asked. "Are you okay?"

"That's not safe," I uttered, a note of panic in my voice making it shrill even to my own ears. "What if it slips? What if Rex falls? What if-"

"I assure you it's perfectly safe," Lester said firmly. "We had Hank engineer the pulley system. And the whole thing is firmly secured to the wall and railing at intervals."

"I don't want Rex going in that thing," I stated.

"Uhhh…." The guys all uhhhed in unison.

"What?" I asked. "What's wrong? Oh god, he's already in it, isn't he?"

"I'll go find him," Tank said hastily. And as I listened to his clomping footsteps moving away from the phone, I focused on taking deep breaths to calm down.

"He's been in the run for about an hour," Bobby explained. "He was loving."

"It really is safe," Lester tried to sooth me. "Remember how you were adamant that bungying wasn't safe? You were convinced that the rope was gonna snap and you were gonna plunge head first into the water, smash your head on some rocks, snap your neck and die. But did you?"

"No," I agreed. "But it _has_ happened to other people. It's a very real possibility and I don't want to risk it happening to my hamster."

"It's not the same thing," Lester argued. "Rex is on solid ground the entire time."

"Even while going up that contraption on the stairs?" I countered.

"It's a low-tech elevator," Bobby explained calmly. "At no point is Rex falling through the air on a string."

"Hank made something similar for his pet rat," Lester added. "And Groffin has been alive for a bajillion years since."

"Got him!" Tank announced, returning to speaker shot. "He was upstairs. Didn't wanna come to me."

"Of course not!" I exclaimed. "You're the one endangering his life!"

"The elevator is actually his favourite part," Tank defended. "He spent a lot of time going up and down it before you called."

I didn't know how I felt about that. Could Rex's enjoyment really be measured by the amount of time he spent doing something? Could anything really love running as much as that reasoning would say he did? On the one hand, I didn't want the guys to be able to judge what Rex did and did not enjoy. On the other hand, I got to go gallivanting off to other locales without my hamster friend, so why couldn't Rex be awarded the same kind of freedom by being allowed to roam a larger area than usual. My thoughts were turning around on themselves at a dizzying rate.

"Let's get a few things clear," I said tersely, coming to a worrying conclusion that I didn't want to clip my hamster child's wings the same way my mother had mine as a child. "Rex is not to be left in the tunnels unsupervised. I expect you to know where he is at all times. He is not to be in the tunnels when you aren't home. And if, for any reason, Rex is harmed in any way, it will be all of your balls on the chopping block."

"Duly noted," Tank affirmed. "I'll set up a surveillance system to keep track of him and send you a live feed link."

"Thank you," I said shortly. I still wasn't entirely happy with the idea of my baby roaming free with less protection than his cage afforded, but at least I'd be able to check up on him whenever I wanted or needed.

* * *

 ** _Camp NaNoWriMo Word Count: 12 957 (three and a half days ahead)._**

 ** _"Hold on to your weird, it makes life infinitely better."_**


	25. Chapter 25

_Had a very delayed and distracted evening of writing, but I got there eventually. Thank goodness for the weekend!_

 **Chapter 25**

I entered the break room Monday morning two weeks later and had to grit my teeth in order to restrain the immediate urge to kick someone – or several someones, as the case may be – in the balls.

Having my 'office' in the break room definitely had its advantages. For example, I was only a few steps away from both coffee and snacks if I needed them (I often did). And I had flexible seating; if the chair was giving me an ass cramp, I could always take my laptop over to one of the couches.

But it also had its disadvantages. Being the break room, it was never really, truly quiet. The men used the area to blow off steam in short bursts and wind down so that they could continue their own work. Which meant that there was always at least three men in the room laughing and joking, or turning the TV up louder so that they could hear it over the people chatting by the coffee machine. I tried not to hold it against the guys, they were unusually up tight when on the job, so having a few minutes to just be was essential, but my God, it was distracting. And they seemed to forget that, unlike them, I was actually in here doing work. I would often get drawn unwittingly into a conversation only to realise half an hour later, when they disappeared back out onto the command floor to continue on with their work as normal, that the search I'd been setting up before they came in hadn't been running because I'd forgotten to hit start.

Worst of all, though, was that they all seemed to think that my laptop was just a common computer they could use whenever their fancy struck. I couldn't count the number of times I'd returned to my desk after consulting with one of the men in their cubicles, or one of my many, mandatory training sessions to find the laptop open and a random, and often bizarre google search on the screen. This was what appeared to be in the making at the moment. Several men were gathered around my desk, leaning over each other to try to see the screen and exclaiming things I didn't have the time or energy to listen to or comprehend.

I'd woken up with the kind of headache and cramps that informed me that my monthly visitor was on its way. I'd burned my last two pieces of bread in the toaster and then had to eat them anyway because I was at risk of running late, and let me tell you, jam does not cover up the taste of burnt toast anywhere near as well as peanut butter does. I'd tripped on my shoelaces – left undone in my rush to get out the door on time – and tumbled down half a flight of stairs. And now I had to deal with these inconsiderate morons commandeering my computer to prove they were right about whatever the hell they'd been arguing about now.

Squeezing through the group crowded around the table, I eventually made it to the centre (it was a much large group than usual), and who did I find with his ass perched on my chair and his hands on my keyboard? Fucking Q. We'd had a few more encounters since the day he and Harry had picked me up from the airport, and each one had been as frustrating, if not more so, than the last. I had thought that I might eventually get the hang of how to ask questions of him that would give me a straight answer, but the fact of the matter was, he could give me the run around for hours without revealing a single piece of information.

I'd had one of his files sitting in my in tray since the middle of last week, waiting for me to address it. I had no intentions of touching it until tomorrow at the absolutely earliest. He still had ages to bring the skip in, so I was in no hurry initiate an interaction with him. He wasn't an easy guy to get along with, so he was the bottom of my priority list for background search consultations.

"What are you doing, Trevor?" I asked, glaring at him from the other side of the table, my arms crossed firmly over my chest as I tried to school my expression into the blankest face I'd ever affected. I wasn't sure if it was working, but my use of his given name, rather than the letter he preferred to go by, certainly grabbed his attention. Tank had said to keep it up my sleeve in case I needed it, and I felt a little defeated putting it into play so early in my Boston stay, but I couldn't let this go on a moment longer. If it took revealing my trump card to get the men to pay attention, then that's what I'd do. I was in no mood to dick about this morning.

Q stared up at me, his face turning the same shade of red as his hair, making the pale scar the cut through the right side of his face stick out like dogs accessories. "I-uh…" he stammered. Clearly the use of his name combined with having being caught in the act of using my computer embarrassed him. Not that I could find the energy to give a crap at this point. I didn't have the patience for his shit today.

"Everyone clear out," I commanded in my best impression of the Tank's booming voice. "And if I catch you using my computer again I will be kneeing crotches and asking questions later."

It took a grand total of three seconds for the break room to empty out, and I wasn't far behind them, grabbing my laptop and heading for the elevator. I had approximately seventy million searches to get through today, but I didn't care. They could wait.

The door to the tech lab was open as I approached, and I paused several feet away, suddenly recalling what had happened last time I'd come down here. Heath could be in there, I realised. I'd caused him unimaginable trauma last time I'd entered unannounced (even though I'd called ahead). There was no way I wanted a repeat of last time.

Back tracking a little, I stepped into the stairwell and pulled my phone from my pocket, scrolling through my contacts until I found Harry's number and hit call. It took him several rings to answer, which was odd, since most Merry Men answer within three rings, and when he did he sounded flustered.

"Hello?" he gasped.

"Hey, Harry, it's Steph," I greeted, unable to shake those impeccable 'Burg manners that had been drilled into me as a child, no matter how much I tried and how often the men hung up on me at the end of a call.

"I know," he said. "I mean, I saw your name on the caller ID. I mean – sorry, you caught me in the middle of something and I'm still trying to extract my thoughts from it. How can I help you?"

I took a deep breath, trying not to be offended by his tone. Like he said, I'd interrupted something. I couldn't very well get mad at him for being distracted. I was the worst at that. "I was going to come and see you about my laptop but then I remembered about Heath. I thought I should call ahead and make sure it was okay for me to come down before I did. To give Heath time to make himself scarce if he needed to."

"Heath's not here," Harry informed me. "Come on down."

"Thanks," I said. "See you soon." But my final comments were unnecessary, because he'd already ended the call. I swear, one day I would gather every single Rangeman employee and we'd have a phone etiquette seminar and they wouldn't be able to have their phones back until they could prove they knew the polite way to end a phone call. It was ridiculous. Did they treat their clients like this as well?

Shaking my head, I emerged once more from the stairwell and made short work of the walk back to the tech lab.

Harry was standing a table in the far back corner of the lab, a welding mask covering his face and leaving no room for his customary hat so that his blonde hair was revealed in shining, dishevelled waves. His attention was on what appeared to be a mangled camera in the corner of the ceiling, wires hanging haphazardly down from the device and ominous scorch marks surrounding it.

"What happened to that?" I asked curiously, setting my laptop down on the table closest to the door and making my way through the mess he called a lab to get a closer look.

"Steph!" he exclaimed, sounding both startled and muffled behind the mask as he teetered on the edge of the table. I must have caught him off guard. "Stay back, I don't want you get electrocuted."

"Electrocuted?" I questioned, taking several steps backwards.

"The wires are still live," he explained, reaching up and nudging one so that it brushed against the other, emitting a series of sparks.

I felt like I should ask again what had happened here, but after hear about the wires and examining the scorch marks a little more, I wasn't sure I wanted to know anymore. "Is it safe for you to be up there?" I asked instead.

His head turned to look at me through the tinted slot in the mask once more. "You know what?" he replied, sounding far too casual for my liking, "Probably not. I should get down."

The next few seconds did nothing to calm my frayed nerves as I watched Harry climb down from the table. Several times I thought he was about to topple over and land on his face, but he always managed to right himself, and eventually he was standing on the floor, turned once more to stare up at the broken camera.

"I need to fix this," he muttered, slowly shaking his head from side to side as his heavily gloved hands settled on his narrow hips. It was then that I noticed a tear in the sleeve of his form fitting shirt. He was muttering to himself furiously now, the sound still muffled by the welder's mask.

"Uh, Harry?" I asked, reminding him that I was still here. He turned around so abruptly that I wanted to assume he was startled by my voice, but without seeing his expression I had no way of knowing.

"Yeah?" he asked after a couple of seconds of staring at me.

"What happened?"

Harry averted his gaze back to the camera, one hand coming up to scratch ineffectively at the back of his head, causing his hair to stick up even more. "I… uh…" he shuffled around the table, bending down to pick something up. "I was trying to fix Bronson's stun gun." He held up the offending weapon, which appeared to be in a similar state to that of the security camera. "It zapped me and I kinda flung it." His masked gaze went from the carnage in his hand to the carnage on the ceiling. "Guess it didn't end well for either of them," he added rather sheepishly.

I was familiar with stun guns. I used them far more often than I did my gun. It was an effective tool for subduing offenders without risking hitting them in a vital organ by accident or getting blood all over the interior of my car (I put my cars through a lot, but blood just seemed extra cruel, it stained badly). Never had I seen this kind of damage. "How did a stun gun cause this?" I questioned.

The stun gun sparked in Harry's hand and he hastily tossed it over his shoulder. "Beats me," he said, brushing his hands off on his cargo pants. "I don't know what Bronson did to it, but I don't think I can repair it." He glanced once again at the camera. "I also don't think I can fix _that_ ," he added. "I'm good, but I'm not that good. I'm not Frankenstein. I can't bring things back from the dead."

I had to agree, it didn't look like something that could be easily fixed. I'm sure Hector could have done so without a second thought, but he was a technological genius. As far as I was aware, there was nothing he couldn't fix. Harry had his work cut out for himself living up to that kind of legendary skill.

We both stared at the wreckage for a few minutes, contemplating it like the answer would just come to either one of us if we stared long enough. Clearly that wasn't going to happen, though, and eventually Harry gave his head another sharp shake and turned to face me, flipping up the mask and revealing his face for the first time since I'd arrived several minutes ago. My attention, having been drawn from the camera by his movements, was now transfixed on his face.

At some point since I saw him at the diner last week, he'd shaved his bushy beard, revealing smooth skin and a strong jaw. It was unexpected, leaving me speechless, my eyes roving over his face with a keener interest than I had previously afforded him. I took in the way his eyebrows quirked, the shape of his nose, the odd pull of his lips when he spoke, and finally, his eyes. Before, I had described them simply as grey. But now, with his face opened up and uncluttered by the beardy distraction, I was able to see that they were the exact colour of rain clouds first thing in the morning.

"Steph?" his voice suddenly cut through the fog I hadn't realised was surrounding my brain. "Are you okay? Should I go get Stitch?"

"Huh?" I uttered, blinking rapidly as I refocused on his whole face. Dear God, please don't tell me I was creeping into a jelly donut hormone episode. I had neither the time nor the outlet to deal with that kind of development right now.

"Your eyes went blank and your face went slack," Harry explained, and I realised he'd closed the distance between us while I was distracted by his face. He took my arm and lead me to a stool at the nearest lab bench, urging me to sit. "You were unresponsive for at least a minute. I thought you were having a stroke or a seizure or something."

"I'm fine," I assured him, mentally kicking myself for not controlling my reaction.

At least I hadn't started trying to climb him, I tried to reason with myself. I'd done that to Bobby during a particularly bad Jelly Donut episode once. We were in an SUV at the time, on a surveillance shift, and he'd been very polite and discreet about the whole thing, depositing me back in the passenger seat and requesting a team to replace us. He'd driven me straight to the baker where he'd bought a dozen donuts and two coffees and silently handed over the white bag.

"Eat," he'd said when I'd tried to apologise for my behaviour. He knew of these periods I occasionally went through. If course he did. It was all probably heavily documented in my file. Possibly to the point that he was able to predict it in much the same way a woman was able to predict her menstrual cycle. If only he could have divulged his wisdom so I could avoid it while here. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass myself by accidentally coming on to one of the Boston men.

In retrospect, if that kind of thing had happened in public back in Trenton, I could kind of understand where the rumours of me slutting about with the guys came from. It didn't make it right, but it shed some light on the situation.

Tamping down the renewed frustration, and taking a few deep breaths, I returned my attention to Harry yet again. "I'm fine," I repeated.

"I don't think you are," he said cautiously. "I've been taught that when a woman says she's fine, she is actually anything but, but I'm going to allow you this denial for the time being. I'm sure you have your ways of dealing with whatever is going on, and I'm going to respect that by-"

"Thank you," I said, even though he was still prepared to continue rambling. "I appreciate that. I'm just having a bad day is all."

"Preaching to the choir," he said, a goofy grin on his face as he hiked his thumb at the security camera in the corner. "So anyway, what has brought you down to my lair on this bright and sunny Monday morning?" he asked, retrieving the laptop from where I'd left it by the door. "Trouble with this thing, I take it?"

"Trouble with our colleagues, actually," I corrected. "They keep using my computer to google stuff when I'm not at my desk. The other day I came back to find Bronson's Facebook page open."

"Did you post something awkward to his status?" Harry asked, a twinkle in his eye.

"No," I sighed. "I just logged out and got on with my work."

Harry shook his head, looking disappointed. "Missed opportunity," he said, opening up the laptop and turning it on. "So you've brought this to me to…" he trailed off, a question in his tone.

"Enhance log in security," I said. "I need a way to keep them out of it."

"Of course," he agreed, and proceeded to log in to the device without my password and bring up a series of screens I had no hope in understanding. He plugged something into the USB port and brought up yet more screens, typing rapidly.

Several minutes passed in silence while he worked, his fingers flying over the keyboard, before I couldn't take it anymore. I'd never been able to deal with silence well, and this was no exception. "You know, working from the break room is hard enough," I told him, my chin resting in hand as I stared at his hands. "It seems like a great idea from the outside. Ideal, even, when you consider the proximity to snacks and coffee. But it's really not. People are in there _all the time_ and they're talking _all the time_. And they try to talk to me, because, hey, I'm in the break room, so it's fine right? But it's not." I moved my gaze from his hands to his face, noting a crease in his forehead. "I don't know if you know this, but I struggle to focus at the best of times, and working in the break room is definitely not the best of times. Not only that, but I woke up with a headache today and I-"

Harry hit a final button with a flourish and closed the lid, standing abruptly. "Come on," he said, sliding the welding mask off his head and replacing it with a purple fez.

"What?" I questioned, confused. "Where are we going?"

"You sound like you're having a bad day, and could use a time out," he explained. "I'm definitely not having the best day of my life, and could also benefit from some time out," he added, gesturing to the camera as evidence. "So we're going to take some time out."

"But-" I stuttered. "What about work?"

"We're taking a lunch break," he shrugged, grabbing a couple of things from a drawer by the door and shoving them into his pocket. "Come on."

I glanced at my watch. "It's only ten o'clock," I protested. "What's Hugh gonna say if he-"

"Leave Hugh to me," he said, crossing back to where I still sat at the bench. "You're no good to this company all high strung like this. If Hugh tries to do anything, I'll go to Stitch and explain the morning you've had and he'll clear it as a mental health check. Now come on."

I couldn't deny that the thought of getting out of the building for a while did sound nice. It wasn't like I'd been cooped up for days without seeing the outside world at all. I'd gone out for groceries, and dinner at the diner a few times. But even back in Trenton when I'd been imprisoning myself in Rangeman to avoid running into the Burg, I'd had the sanctuary of going home to Tank's granny flat at the end of the day. Here it was just never ending Rangeman building.

"Okay," I nodded, hopping off the stool and following him out the door. "Just let me duck up to my apartment and grab my purse."

"You don't need it," Harry said in such a way that left no room for argument. "This is my treat."

* * *

 ** _Camp NaNoWriMo Word Count: 16 143 (OVER HALF WAY!)_**


	26. Chapter 26

_I had a pretty full weekend with birthday celebrations for my bestie and a choir performance, and didn't think I was going to get much writing done as a result. (In fact I got absolutely no words written yesterday). But once I started this evening, the words just kept flowing until I'd written a full chapter of 2500ish words. Which, of course, means I can post this here chapter._

 **Chapter 26**

Ten silent minutes after pulling out of the underground garage, Harry was pulling the SUV into a garage of a different sort. A one car garage. A distinctly residential garage attached to a single family home. My heart rate quickened at the realisation. I'd thought we were heading to the mall, or a fast food joint, not a house. Was this _his_ house? What was he expecting us to do here? Surely he wasn't suggesting we-

I shook my head, unable to even finish the thought of it. Harry was the nicest Boston Merry Man I'd met to date. There was no way he would drag me out of the office for a mental health break only to-

Another shake. I really couldn't bring myself to think about it. He was nice. And I couldn't deny that he was attractive, not after the drooling I'd done over his face this morning. But he wasn't into me. There was no way. He was just looking out for the new kid, like a good friend.

By the time I'd dispelled those wayward thoughts, Harry was already out of the vehicle and unlocking the door that lead to the rest of the house. Slowly, I slid out of the passenger seat and closed the car door softly, gazing around at my surroundings. It was a pretty typical garage, with a bench and hardware tools off to the side, a couple of bikes hung on the wall, and some random storage tubs stacked in the corner. Nothing special. Nothing to suggest this place of residence belonged to a particular person. But also nothing to deny it either.

"You coming?" Harry asked.

"Where are we?" I countered, pulling my gaze away from the bikes to peer at Harry instead.

Harry peered back at me, his eyebrows shuffling closer together on his forehead, like they were whispering to each other and trying to figure out the answer to a complex equation. "My house?" The way he said it made it sound like a question. Was he unsure if this was his house? Or was it something else? Had he picked up on my vibe a minute ago and didn't want to scare me off by making it appear the way I'd thought it might have been before shutting down that thought pattern? Or maybe it _was_ like that, and he was having second thoughts about wanting to –

Yet again, I shook my head to erase the sudden image of what Harry might possibly want to do with me, but probably didn't.

"What are we doing at your house?" I asked.

He looked between the door he was standing beside and me, his hands fidgeting with the keys he'd used to open the garage door. Nervous. Maybe he really _was_ reconsidering why he'd brought me here. "I, uh, heard from Hank that you practically lived on peanut butter back in Trenton," he said, scratching at the back of his head. "I figured that being in a new place and not having your favourite food could have been contributing to your stress at the moment, so I thought that maybe you'd like some peanut butter and the only place I could think of that would have peanut butter was my house. So I brought you here. I guess I could have just taken you to the mall and bought your some peanut butter, but I didn't know if you'd just eat it out of the jar, or if you needed bread or whatever so I decided that at least here there's a few options for whatever you need. And if I don't have what you need I can always duck down the street to the-"

He was rambling. A lot. And I was kind of listening to it. But my brain had seized on two words: _Peanut Butter_. Nothing else in the world mattered at that moment except those two glorious words running through my head on repeat.

I'd never thought of myself as a peanut butter addict but given that it had been a staple food for my entire life, going without it the last two weeks had been almost excruciating at times. When I returned to my apartment, starving and tired wanting nothing more than to slap some peanut butter on some worthless white bread and call it dinner, only to remember that I had neither in my cupboard.

I'd been doing better at denying my need for it this last week. I was cooking real food and continuing to learn and perfect dishes with Uncle Suzan. I'd even been eating salads, since there was always a multitude of vegetables in my refrigerator. (Boston Rangeman may not provide home cooked meals like Ella does, but they do ensure that each apartment has a fully stocked fridge and pantry. I only ever have to buy the specific things that kept me going, like a few sugary – nut free – treats.) But at the mention now, my reaction couldn't be checked.

"Peanut butter?" I asked, already salivating at the mere suggestion of it. If he turned out to be pulling my leg, I could not guarantee he would survive the morning unharmed. I didn't consider myself a violent person as a rule, but don't stand between me and peanut butter right now. I was severely deprived.

"Uh, yeah," Harry uttered, cutting off his owns words in surprise. "I thought something familiar might make you feel a bit better. Peanut butter was literally the only thing I knew that might have a chance of putting a smile back on your face."

Casting all thoughts of violence aside, I bounded across the garage toward him and through the door when he stepped aside, gesturing for me to lead the way through. Any awkwardness I might normally have felt entering someone's house not only for the first time, but head of my host was overshadowed by my stomach's insistence that I locate the peanut butter it had been promised as soon as humanly possible.

"Up the stairs and through the door," Harry instructed, pulling the door closed and locking it again. "Peanut butter and bread is in the pantry at the far end of the kitchen. Left side of the refrigerator. I'll be up in a second, I just have to make a couple of phone calls."

I didn't hesitate. I didn't pause to snoop or look around. I headed straight up the stairs, straight through the door directly in front of me and straight to the cupboard to the left of the refrigerator. With the bread and the jar in my hands, I turned around to survey the kitchen, realising that I hadn't asked about knives or plates or anything like that. Luckily for me, there were a couple of plates and some cutlery in the sink side drainer. I made two sandwiches with practiced ease, the kind I didn't have with the type of food I was in the habit of preparing these days, and ate the first one while standing over the counter. My hunger sated a little, I took the second sandwich, along with the plate (to catch crumbs) and leisurely examined the kitchen.

It was beautiful, and spacious with exposed brick walls and wooden ceiling beams, marble counter tops and stainless steel appliances. The floors were hardwood, and the cupboards blended well. On the doors of the refrigerator was a cluster of notes held on by magnets. I took the time to examine a few, discovering short, cryptic sounding notes from people marked J, and PB, a shopping list, a few inspirational quotes and a rather disturbing crayon drawing.

I was just leaning down to figure out if the stick figure person was bleeding from the neck like I thought, or if it could be passed off as a red scarf, when Harry's voice behind me made me jump.

"I draw when I'm in a mood," he said, directly behind me. How did he manage to sneak up on me like that? Oh, who am I kidding, a wailing baby could probably sneak up on me. I was oblivious to my surroundings at the best of times, and this morning was not the best of times.

I spun around to face him, hand on my heart and eyes wide. He was lucky I'd just swallowed my last bite of sandwich, otherwise I might have been choking on it.

"Sorry," he apologised, grimacing at my reaction. "I thought you knew I was here."

I shook my head for what was probably the sixteenth time since arriving at his home fifteen minutes ago. "One thing you need to know about me: I am wildly unaware of my surroundings. It's one of my pitfalls as a Bounty Hunter."

"Duly noted," Harry said with a nod. "I'll be sure to make more noise when sneaking up on you next time."

I smiled gratefully, then turned back to the refrigerator. "So this atrocious crayon drawing is yours?" I asked. "I was starting to wonder if you had a couple of sadistic children running about the house."

"Nope," he said, stuffing his hands in his pocket. "No children. Just me."

"It's a pretty big house for just one person," I pointed out, glancing out the kitchen door to a massive open plan living/dining area. It wasn't exactly the kind of space I'd envisioned Harry living in. To be honest, I'd actually assumed he lived on the fourth floor like so many other Rangeman employees. At the most, I thought, he could have had a small one bedroom apartment nearby. Not this.

Now it was Harry's turn to shake his head. "I don't live here alone," he said. "I have a housemate."

"I supposed you'd have to, to afford the rent on a place like this," I allowed.

"I actually inherited it from my grandparents," Harry explained, taking my plate and setting it in the sink. The way he said it made it clear that he had truly loved his grandparents and their loss was a tragedy. I could understand that sentiment. I don't know what I would do when Grandma Mazur eventually left to go join Grandpa Mazur at that great buffet in the sky. She was one of the few family members that believed in me no matter what.

At that moment my phone started ringing in my pocket. I knew it was Tank, I'd set each of frequent contacts a specific ringtone. Tank's was _What's New Pussycat_ by Tom Jones, an obvious reference to his feline friends. "I should answer this," I apologised to Harry, pulling the phone out and turning it so that he could see the picture of Tank on the screen. "The boss."

Harry nodded and gestured to the side. "Be my guest."

I stepped through to the living/dining space, gaping anew at just how big it was. It was huge for one person, but even two people seemed an inadequate number for this kind of room. It needed four or five at least. My phone was still wailing and vibrating in my hand, though, so I dragged my thoughts back to it, swiping across the screen and bringing it to my ear. "Hey, Big Guy, what's up?" I asked by way of greeting.

"I just got off the phone with your father," he said solemnly.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath.

"Why haven't you called him?" he asked.

"You sound like my mother," I shot.

"Don't take this out on me," Tank sighed. "You have nothing to lose by calling your father and letting him know you're alive. He just wants to make sure you're okay."

"Didn't you tell him I'm okay?"

"I did," he affirmed. "But he wants proof. He said if I didn't get you to call him soon he was going to storm the building and hunt you down himself."

I gasped. Daddy must truly be worried about me if he was making threats like that, but I wasn't hiding out in the Trenton building. I wasn't even in Trenton anymore, surely he knew how futile attacking the building would be. For starters, it had the best security money could buy. And for seconds, I wasn't even there! "You didn't tell him I'm in Boston?"

"Should I have?" he asked, sounding sarcastic and snappy. It wasn't the gentle giant's normal tone, but then again, the gentle giant wasn't usually being threatened by an employee's father two weeks after he told said employee to call said father. "I didn't know it was my job to keep families informed of the comings and goings of their kin."

I hated the way he sounded. I hated the way his tone made me feel. And worst of all, I hated that it was my fault in the first place. For the first few hours after that initial call two weeks ago, I'd avoided calling Daddy. Then I'd gotten busy and forgotten all about it, until just now. "I'll call him now," I promised. "I'm sorry I put you through this."

And just like that, my easy going Tank was back. "No worries," he said. "I just hate to think that you're cutting him out of your life at a time like this. You need him and he needs to know that you're not sitting in a dark room crying."

"Who's to say I'm not?" I challenged.

Tank's tone got serious. "Stephanie, if you are ever sitting in a dark room crying I expect that you would call one of us to talk through what was upsetting you. You are a strong woman. I know that even the strongest people have their bad days but what separates them from the weak is their ability to sort their shit out and keep moving forward. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I said solemnly, regretting my joke. I was definitely not sitting in a dark room crying and hadn't done for a couple of weeks, but being so far removed from the day to day happenings of my life, Tank had no way of knowing that. All he got were a couple of phone calls a week and, probably, daily updates from the Boston Merry Men.

"Good," Tank said crisply, all calm again. "Now go call your father."

And, of course, before I could utter a goodbye, farewell or any other polite call ending phrase, he'd hung up.

* * *

 ** _Camp NaNoWriMo Word Count: 18 640 (four days ahead of schedule)_**

 ** _"Don't be afraid to shine. Remember: the sun doesn't give a damn if it blinds you."_**


	27. Chapter 27

_Know what I can't believe? The fact that we're only four chapters away from where I started camp NaNoWriMo 20 days ago. That's insane. I've written 21% of my total word count this month alone!_

 **Chapter 27**

I knew I had to call my dad. I'd promised I would. He deserved to know that I was alright. And I should probably do it sooner rather than later if he was making threats about storming the castle. Dad wasn't what you'd call an over protective parent. He'd always been a firm believer in letting Val and I learn things the hard way. But he was always there to help us pick up the pieces when things went awry. He didn't need to use a lot of words to let us know that he loved us, because he showed us with his actions. Just because he was silent and stoic, didn't mean he was uncaring. I'd learned, over the years, that I could go to my father with anything and he would assist me in any way he could.

The problem was, that while I'd never known him to be violent in my lifetime, I was aware of the fact that he'd been a major in the army and was extremely capable of violence. After I'd caught Dicky cheating on me, Daddy had been furious, but he'd channelled that fury into making sure I got all my stuff out of the apartment Dicky and I had shared and into my old room at home until I'd found a place to live. He'd had an action to assist me in taking back my life from the turmoil my then husband had wreaked on it.

But right now?

I cringed. There was nothing Daddy could do to make this one better. Or if there had been, it had already been done. By the guys.

This was the first problem in my life where I'd actively avoided my father, and it wasn't because I didn't want to see the disappointment on his face, even though I kept telling myself it was. I wasn't afraid of what he would think of me after hearing the rumours that had been spread through the Berg. I avoided Daddy because he was as much a part of the Burg as Mom was, even if he didn't actively participate in the gossiping. He drove his cab for Burgers, he attended poker night at his club with Burgers. And at it's foundation, I had problems with the Burg. I'd never fit in. I'd been ridiculed for my different ideas. And, most recently, and hurtfully, I'd been the subject of intense, slanderous rumours.

I didn't want to cut Daddy out of my life, but I didn't really feel like associating with the Burg right now. I felt terrible for avoiding him. It wasn't his fault. It was just that Daddy was in such close proximity to Mom that if he so much as breathed in a way that let on that he was talking to me, I had no doubt that she would snatch the phone away from him and start tearing into me. Like I hadn't had enough from the Burg as a whole.

Taking a deep breath, I opened up my contacts and scrolled through until I found my father's number. Now or never, I told myself. I had to call him now before I lost my nerve. Before I thought about it too much and decided Daddy was with the bad guys. He wasn't. He was just an innocent bystander.

I was just about to tap his name to connect the call, when I remembered that I was at Harry's house, and as much as I tried to deny all evidence of the Burg brainwashing my mother had done to me as a child, I couldn't get rid of the feeling that I was being rude by ignoring my host. I wasn't even in the same room as him at the moment. And I was definitely not talking to him and being a gracious guest. Cursing my mother, I hurried across the few feet back to the kitchen and poked my head around the corner.

Harry was leaning against the counter with his own phone in hand, texting, but looked up when I appeared. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"I'm really sorry about this," I said, stepping into the room properly. "I – my-" I tried to think of a tactful way to phrase what I needed to do without letting on that it was my Dad that I needed to contact. He didn't need to know that. And what was he going to think if he put two and two together and realised that my dad was contacting Tank to get to me. "There's a situation in Trenton that I need to deal with," I finally managed to say. "Is it okay if I just make a quick phone call?"

Harry nodded serenely. "That's fine," he said. "Take all the time you need."

I gave a short nod in return and retreated back into the living room, heading for the far end of the room where Harry was less likely to be able to overhear me. It was one thing overhearing my conversations with Tank, everyone, by now, that Tank and I were good friends. It terrified most of the Boston men, because they had this absurd thought in their heads that I was reporting everything back to him and they could find themselves facing Mungo on the mats for a beating bright and early the next morning (not that these kinds of theories deterred them from using my computer whenever they felt like it).

But my conversations with Tank were rarely deep and meaningful. And hardly ever revolved around the men I was working with. It was funny, however, to watch the men's reactions to the way I spoke to him. They would never have the courage to speak to the big man that way, unless they had a death wish.

Talking to my dad, on the other hand, was a completely different kettle of fish.

Dad wasn't exactly a big talker, so if he wanted me to call him he was obviously worried about me. And since he was threatening to raid Trenton Rangeman to try and find me, my guess would be that the situation had upset him just as much as it had me.

Finally, with my back to the kitchen, sitting on a low step of the spiral staircase in the corner, I hit the button to connect a call to my father and pressed the phone to my ear, waiting anxiously for him to pick up.

One ring.

I tried to keep my breathing even.

Two rings.

Fiddling with the flap of my cargo pocket, I tried to rehearse what I would say to him when he answered.

Three rings.

My leg started jiggling up and down.

Four rings.

I bit my lower lip.

Five ri-

"Hello?" my father's gruff voice cut off the trilling tones.

My breath stuck in my throat. "Hi Daddy," I greeted in the most timid voice I'd heard escape my mouth in years. And I'd faced serial killers in that time!

A crackling, whooshing sound filled the line, like he'd let out a long breath. "Pumpkin," he said, sounding far more relaxed than his previous one word sentence. "I'm so glad you called." He _sounded_ happy to hear from me, too.

Slowly, I could feel the tension releasing from my shoulders in the way only my father could ever achieve. He'd been the voice of reason since before I was born. And now I felt stupid for avoiding him as long as I had. Three months. So much had happened in that time. I'd broken up with Morelli three months ago. I'd found out about his cheating three months ago. I'd taken to hiding either in Tank's granny flat or at Rangeman three months ago. I'd been publically humiliated two weeks ago on my first attempt to return to my regular routine. It had done more damage to my self-confidence than I could ever imagine. And through it all, I had refused to contact the one man who'd always been there for me, always supported me, always protected me.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," I apologised. My voice sounded thick and there were tears pricking behind my eyes. I took a deep breath to try to keep them at bay before continuing with the conversation. "My life has pretty much been a shambles, and I've been focusing on getting it back on track."

"Mmm," he murmured.

"I assume you know everything that's happened by now?" I asked tentatively.

"Your grandmother showed me a Youtube of what happened at the mall," he replied, a chilling tone creeping into his usually neutral voice. "I showed it to Juniak. He'd already seen it and was taking action. Morelli is no longer a member of Trenton's finest."

"Thank you," I said. Just like always, my father was looking out for me. Even when I'd cut him out of my life.

"Morelli was always bad for you," Dad said in an uncharacteristic show of opinion. "He didn't want you to be who you're meant to be. He wanted to make you into his Burg wife. But you're not Burg material, Pumpkin. You're better than the Burg. You've always been better than the Burg. They don't understand how much better off you are without them meddling in your every step. And speaking of thanking people," his tone shifted into an almost enthusiastic one. Very foreign to my ears. "Who is the gentleman with the tattooed head that I will be buying a case of beer to thank him for defending my daughter's honour?"

A snort of laughter bubbled up from my guts. "That would be Cal."

"Cal," Dad repeated. "You should bring him over so I can thank him personally."

My chest tightened again, realising anew that he didn't know I'd left town. "I'd love to," I assured my father. "But there's a major problem with that plan."

"Don't worry about a lecture from your mother," Dad said automatically. "She's just as livid as I am. She openly referred to Bella Morelli as a womaniser breeder at Giovanni's last week. She may be a conduit for Burg gossip, and prone to taking the Burg's side over yours, but this one has gone too far. She's more concerned with your wellbeing in all of this than she is about the phone calls she's been getting about it."

A lump formed in my throat hearing that my mother was on my side for once. I guess having the video evidence of Morelli's verbal abuse helped open her eyes to what a pig he really was. It had certainly opened mine. But that wasn't the problem I'd been referring to. I said as much to Daddy.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean," I said slowly. "I can't just bring Cal over, because I'm not it Trenton." Silence met my statement and I waited to see if Daddy would say anything. When it became clear that he wasn't, I continued. "I'm in Boston," I explained. "After the incident at the mall, I decided I needed to get away from the Burg and it's toxic, hive mind gossip, so Tank arranged to have me transferred to the Boston Rangeman office for a while. I've been here just over two weeks."

Another silence while he processed.

"You're in Boston?" he finally questioned.

"Yes."

"But still at Rangeman?" he added.

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "Yep."

"Are they treating you okay?"

"They're frightened of what the Trenton guys will do to them if they mistreat me," I informed my father. "So yes. Apart from the odd asshole, they've been treating me fine."

"Don't let anyone try to push you around," Dad instructed, stern.

"I won't," I promised.

"Good," he said. "Anyone looks at you the wrong way you give me a call and I'll-"

"Thanks, Dad, but I've already had at least a dozen men offer to defend my honour, I think I'll be okay."

Dad wasn't having it, though. He was in full papa bear mode and the thought of a bunch of men he'd never even heard of bullying me was rubbing him up the wrong way. "I mean it, Pumpkin. Don't let them stamp out your spark."

I rolled my eyes. "I won't, Daddy. I promise."

"Good," he repeated. "I should let you get back to work, then."

"I guess," I agreed, glancing around at the massive living room I was sitting in. Harry and I should really head back to Rangeman. "Thanks for everything."

"It's my job, Pumpkin," Daddy assured me. "One I take very seriously."

"Love you," I said, pouring every ounce of gratefulness I could into those two words. "I'll call Cal and get him to drop by for that case of beer."

"Love you, too, Pumpkin."

* * *

 ** _Camp NaNoWriMo Word Count: 22,264_**

 ** _"It's okay to be a glow stick. Sometimes we need to break before we can shine."_**


	28. Chapter 28

_I accidentally wrote 3600 words today... a whole chapter. And also went to my Sunday afternoon rehearsal. So here's the next chapter for your viewing pleasure._

 **Chapter 28**

It felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders as we arrived back in the Rangeman garage half an hour later. After the conversation with my father I'd returned to the kitchen and fixed myself another peanut butter sandwich, asking if Harry happened to have any olives in the house. He had, and had exclaimed over how disgusting my peanut butter sandwich was. Apparently he liked neither ingredient, which mean I was eating his roommate's food, not his. That made it a little awkward for me, but Harry assured me that it was fine and had to keep assuring me all the way home.

"Reese won't mind," he said now, washing his hands and using the suds to scrub his face, even though he hadn't touched the peanut butter. I supposed he was used to the routine by now. He was very efficient. "It's just some peanut butter, it's not like you ate the expensive steak we're planning for dinner."

"I guess you have a point," I agreed, stepping up to the sink and beginning the cleansing process. "I did eat quite a bit of it, though. I'll give you some money to reimburse him."

"You really don't need to," Harry assured me, using the paper towels provided in the little wash room to dry his face and hands.

Rinsing the soap suds from my hands, I reached for the facial cleanser that I'd added to the sink side after the first couple times I'd gone out and the act of using hand soap on my face had dried out my skin. Apparently the men were happy enough to use hand soap on their faces. If I was going to have to wash my face every time I entered the building, I was going to make sure I was looking after my face.

"I want to," I said, lathering up my face. "As a thank you," I added. "If it wasn't for Reese's peanut butter, I probably would have attempted some ass kicking. And I've punched the Trenton guys in the arms enough times to have learned that it's a bad idea. I'm usually the one that ends up hurt. He saved me a trip to see Stitch."

A peculiar expression flashed across Harry's face in the mirror above the sink as he passed me a couple of paper towels, but I didn't get a chance to ask after it, because at that moment a stern, no nonsense voice cut through the air.

"Ms. Plum," it said, making me jump. I spun to face Hugh, water still dripping down my face and soaking into my black Rangeman shirt, the paper towels slipping from my fingers and floating to the ground. Hugh stood in the doorway to the wash room, arms crossed over his chest and his sickly sallow just as green as the first time I'd seen him, despite his frown. "My office. Now," he instructed, immediately turning on his heel and disappearing from view. I had just enough time to exchange a worried glance with Harry before Hugh's voice drifted back to us. "You too, Harry."

There as a long moment of silence as we listened to Hugh's footsteps disappearing into the elevator.

"Shit," Harry uttered, snatching fresh towels from the dispenser and handing them to me. "We better hurry." He grabbed out our toothbrushes from their allocated drawers and by the time I had my face and hands (and chest) dried, he had applied toothpaste to both and was already working his own through his mouth while holding mine out for me.

"What did we do?" I asked a few minutes later as we raced up the stairs.

"I don't know," Harry replied, halfway upp the next level. "I cleared the excursion with Hawk as soon as we got to my place," he explained.

"Then why are we in trouble?" My breath was coming in short, almost painful bursts as we climbed. I may have been improving my fitness over the last couple of months with regular gym sessions, but stairs were still killer. If I made it to Hugh's office on the fifth floor without dying, I'd be surprised.

"We might not be," Harry said, sounding perfectly calm despite his initial cursing suggesting we were. "Hugh's demeanour is always like this."

"Then why did you say 'shit' when he called you to his office as well?" I questioned, stopping on a landing to catch my breath a little before continuing on.

"Knee jerk reaction," he said, stopping on the next landing up and staring down at me, a sheepish expression creeping over his face. "I was a goody two-shoes in school. I hate being called to the headmaster's office."

I had to agree with that sentiment. I'd been far from a model student in school, always getting myself into some kind of trouble, so I was well acquainted with the feeling of dread at being called to the headmaster's office. That didn't mean I liked the feeling any more than Harry did, though. Being called to Ranger's or Tank's office never felt this terrible, but I suppose I had the advantage of being friends with both of them. Hugh didn't appear to want to be anyone's friend. He spent all day in his office, emerging only when absolutely necessary, and as far as I could tell, never participating in the group dinners or anything else like that.

In all honesty, I was amazed that the Boston men appeared to be shit-scared of Tank, and even Ranger when he came up in conversation, but they didn't have the same fear for their own branch manager, even though he didn't exude a single shred of friendliness. He commanded and he ordered, and he always had an angry expression on his face. While Tank and Ranger were both masters of the cranky face, hard glare and commanding tone, they also tempered it with occasionally letting their hair down with the men. It allowed the guys to see that they were human and, despite the façade they put up at work, were still approachable and, ultimately, that they cared about their employees.

Hugh didn't appear to have any compassion toward the men that worked under him. The most human thing about him appeared to be the fact that he was in a constant state of illness. And yet the men were nowhere near as afraid of him as they were of the Tank, who was actually very mild except when he's yelling in your face. Personally, not knowing Hugh's views and being unable to banter with him and get to know him better made him scarier than any other man I'd encountered in this company.

"What's Hugh's deal, anyway?" I asked, continuing up the stairs. There was no use in surviving this climb only to be killed by Hugh for being late to my second meeting with him. He'd said 'now' when he left us downstairs, and by my count, at least seven minutes had passed since then.

"It's not exactly something I can explain in the short time it'll take us to get to his office," Harry said, keeping pace with me now as we ascended the final two sets of stairs. "The short answer is anxiety. The long answer is so much deeper, though."

"Remind me to ask again later, then," I said as we emerged on the fifth floor, squared our shoulders and headed down the hall to Hugh's office.

The door was open and we paused in the hall, Harry raising his hand, knuckles curled and ready to knock on the door jamb when Hugh's voice drifted out to us, sounding much calmer than it had downstairs. Still strained, but no longer angry. "Enter," he called. I tried to exchange a glance with Harry, but he wasn't looking in my direction. He just stared straight ahead, took one last, deep breath, and stepped over the threshold to our potential doom. I had no choice but to follow suit.

Hugh was sitting behind his desk when we entered and indicated for Harry and me to take a set. Was that a good sign? I didn't know. This was only my second meeting with the man, and last time I'd been invited into the office just long enough to receive my welcome pack and a stern warning about following the rules before being shuffled out into Harry's care to find my way.

Taking my cues from Harry, I sat down in the empty visitor's chair in front of Hugh's not-as-giant-as-Tank-or-Ranger's-desks desk and folded my hands in my lap, looking towards the manager with as neutral an expression as I was ever capable of creating. Hugh had his hands wrapped tightly around a steaming coffee mug that did not appear to hold coffee, if the yellow tinge to the water and the distinctly not coffee smell was anything to go by, and was staring a spot in the middle distance.

"We have a problem," he said, cutting his gaze to me briefly before averting it to meet Harry's eyes. "It has come to my attention that Heath has been refusing to leave his apartment."

"That's correct," Harry confirmed. "Heath had a rather alarming episode when Ms. Plum entered the tech lab where he was working. I managed to control the situation and remove Heath from the area as quickly as possible, but knowing that Ms. Plum is roaming freely through the building has been a great source of anxiety for him. He has been completing computer tasks and small maintenance from his apartment for the last two weeks."

Hugh was silent. His lips pursed to blow on his drink, but he never dropped his gaze from Harry's not even when he lifted the mug and took a sip. "What about installations?" Hugh asked.

"I've been doing them all myself," Harry said. "Taking along any man who's available at the time to assist."

"Is that efficient?"

Harry shook his head. "No," he said with a shrug. "It would be better to have Heath assisting, because he actually knows what he's doing. But it's been like this for a couple years now."

Hugh's dark eyebrows shot up his forehead so that he looked like Shock when he raised his eyebrows in question. I didn't think it was possible for a normal man's eyebrows to get that high, but there was the evidence right in front of me. "A couple of years?" he questioned, a hard edge to his voice. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Harry sighed, sitting back a little in his chair like the very topic of conversation exhausted him. "As you're aware, Heath's condition presents some difficulties when faced with the female of the species," he said with a furtive glance in my direction. I was beginning to get the feeling that my being here in this office was not going to have a happy ending. It appeared that my presence in Boston was causing problems with the men... "Despite requests that there be no females on the premises while we are installing a new system or carrying out maintenance and upgrades on old systems, there are often occasions when Heath is unexpectedly confronted with a woman and is rendered virtually useless anyway," Harry explained. "Two years ago, when his phobia was at it's worst, we made the decision that he would stay inside the building where he was safe from women and I would just do the house calls on my own."

Hugh didn't look very impressed with this news. His hands had dropped away from the mug that appeared to have been soothing him, and were now clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were turning white. "Who. Is. _We?_ " he seethed.

Harry shifted back into a straight backed position, clearly not wanting to dig himself any deeper into the shit than he was apparently already in by slouching. "Heath and myself, sir," he said, resorting to addressing his superior formally in what was either an attempt to convince Hugh to go easy on him, or a knee jerk reaction from his military training. "With the approval of Hawk."

"Is Hawk in charge?" Hugh asked in a gravelly whisper.

I wonder if they would notice if I just slid down to the floor and crawled out of the room? Probably. I'm not the most subtle person in the world. I've been told I couldn't pull of stealth if the entire world was deaf and blind.

"Not at current, sir," Harry said. "But at the time of the decision you were on two weeks leave and Hawk was left in command."

A muscle in Hugh's jaw was twitching, making me nervous. Ranger got like this sometimes when the guys were being particularly trying on his patience and I always thought that if we weren't careful, he would literally bite someone's head off. I had no doubt that Hugh would do the same to Harry if it were at all possible. His previously puce complexion was turning redder by the second. "Did you not think," Hugh bit out, jaw still clenched firmly shut as he spoke through gritted teeth. "That this was something I should know about?"

Harry gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing as a few beads of sweat appeared on his brow. I wasn't even the one being grilled and I was definitely starting to feel uncomfortably warm. Why was I here? If he was focussing so single-mindedly on Harry, why had I been the first one called to the office? Wasn't Harry just an afterthought? I gripped the arms of my chair, finding it harder and harder to stay quiet. I wasn't entirely sure that I could avoid a session on the mats with Mungo as punishment if I were to interrupt at this point. Better to play it safe.

"I had assumed," Harry said slowly, "Up until a minute ago, that Hawk had informed you of his decision and that we were just going to carry on with the way things were."

"Your assumption was incorrect," Hugh snapped. "You should have informed me."

I couldn't take it anymore. All Harry had done was follow orders from his superiors and now he was getting in trouble? How was that fair? "Excuse you," I said, sliding forward on my seat so I was perched on the very edge of it, the better to prove to the man behind the desk that I meant business. "Why is it Harry's job to report Hawk's decisions to you? All Harry was doing was his job. If you're going to get angry at anyone about this, it should be Hawk!" I hated throwing the man under the bus like this, he'd actually been very helpful to me in my two weeks here, but I couldn't stand what Hugh was doing to Harry. "Hawk is the one that didn't report the change to you when he should have. Harry's just been doing the best he can with the situation. If you had bothered to emerge from your office from time to time you might have found out about it sooner."

Hugh's eyes bore into mine for several seconds after my outburst. I had the urge to continue ranting, but I was much better at recognising a person's limit these days and stopping myself when it had been reached. "Ms. Plum," he said, like he'd only just noticed me sitting here. I'd been so still and quiet, I didn't think it was out of the realms of possibility. "I'm glad you're here. You see Heath handed in his resignation this morning, and I need someone to assist Harry with installations. I was hoping you'd be up to the challenge."

"I was sent up here to assist the men in developing their search skills," I pointed out.

"Installations is just a small part of what Harry does throughout the week," Hugh explained, his tone understanding and eerily calm. "You'd still have plenty of time to assist the men. And as an added bonus, you'd be expanding your skill set."

I was already expanding my skill set just by undertaking the necessary training to gain clearance to get back out in the field. But I didn't bother pointing that out to Hugh. It was popular opinion around these parts that I should have already gained those skills years ago when I first became serious about being a fugitive apprehension agent. "What about when I eventually go back to Trenton?" I asked. "Wouldn't it be smarter for Harry to train one of the other men instead of wasting his time on me and then having to do it all over again when I leave?"

"At the moment, I need all my men that are in the field, in the field," he responded shortly, but matter-of-factly. At least he was no longer ready to perform dismemberment. "You're the only spare guy Boston has, so you're the only person I can spare to be trained up properly."

I wasn't sure how I felt about being called a 'spare guy' but I wasn't prepared to argue that particular point right now. It was better to be called a 'spare guy' than a slut or a whore, I decided. And these days 'guy' was a pretty universal term anyway, right? Like, _'Hey guys!'_. I glanced toward Harry to try gauge his opinion on the matter. He met my gaze and shrugged, non-committal. Probably, he was just grateful that I'd stolen Hugh's attention away from his supposed wrong-doings two years ago.

Despite my positive feelings after my phone call with Daddy this morning, I was not mentally ready to return to Trenton, the Burg and the things they had said about me. I needed to be able to stay here for at least a little while longer, and I still had so much to teach the men here. If learning how to install security systems would keep Hugh from getting fed up with my presence and sending me packing, then I had to do it. Right?

Shit, was I scared of Hugh? I mentally slapped myself. Of course I wasn't scared of Hugh. He was a little disconcerting with his rapid mood changes, but he wasn't scary. If anything, I was afraid of returning to Trenton and falling straight back into my old life where I was constantly the laughing stock of the entire town.

"I'll do it," I agreed.

"Fantastic," Hugh enthused, wrapping his hands back around his mug. "Harry will organise this training around the rest of your schedule. I-"

"While we're here," Harry interrupted, and Hugh and I both snapped our heads to stared at him. I was a little shocked that he had the guts to interrupt after he'd been so close to what could possibly have been death, or serious injury. Hugh just looked impatient. "I've noticed that the men have taken to using Stephanie's makeshift desk in the breakroom for googling and Facebooking when she's not at her computer," he continued, seemingly unaware of the expressions on our faces. "This morning there was a group of ten men gathered around her computer when she arrived to start her shift. I don't think the break room is the best environment to get work done in and it appears that the men don't have the capacity to make the distinction between the break room and someone's work space."

"We don't have any free cubicles," Hugh said shortly.

"That's true," Harry agreed. "But there's plenty of room down in the tech lab, perhaps Stephanie could-"

"Yes," Hugh, said, waving his hand at us. "Just do it."

We sat there in silence for a few moments, Hugh taking a long sip from his mug, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. When his lashes fluttered apart again and he caught sight of Harry and I still standing there, he practically jumped out of his chair. It was only because his mug was now mostly empty that he didn't end up spilling it everywhere, and with one hand raking through his hair, he barked a quick, "Dismissed," at us, using the other hand to gesture hastily to the door.

Hugh certainly was turning out to be one massive contradiction.

* * *

 _ **Camp NaNoWriMo Word Count: 25,908**_

 _ **"Follow your intuition, not their opinion."**_

 _ **Also, I wrote a poem and posted it on my fictionpress account - CyborgWithGreatHair. It's called "Starved for Light". I'd be honoured if you took a moment to check it out.**_


	29. Chapter 29

_So Camp NaNoWriMo ends in two days. And I spent this week pretty much_ not _writing. Stress and sickness and exhaustion led to_ MANY _naps. Seriously, every time I was like "I'm gonna go home and write!" my brain translated that to, "We're gonna go home and NAP!" But weekends are the best times for writing. They would be even better if they weren't almost as full as the week days, but at least I get to sleep in on weekends so the exhaustion is slightly less._

 **Chapter 29**

When we left Hugh's office I headed straight to the break room, thinking I should probably get to work, since I'd slacked off all morning. It took only a second to notice, once I was sat at my desk with a file from my in tray in hand, that my laptop was still down in the tech lab. From what Harry had said, he was suggesting that I move my 'desk' to the tech lab. I'd been down there twice now, and I certainly didn't see how there could possibly be any space for me down there and if there was, I felt like I would be slowly swallowed up by the mess. I wasn't exactly the tidiest person alive (my mother will attest to that) but the thought of working in the chaos of the tech lab sent shivers down my spine.

I was still contemplating my very limited options when arrived with a cardboard box and a friendly smile.

"Ready to go?" he asked setting the box down on my 'visitors' chair.

I knew he meant to pack up my desk and take it down to the lab, but I was still unsure it was such a good idea. "I think I'm actually fine here," I said, setting the file back in the inbox and dropping the pens scattered on the table back in the penholder. They had all been in the holder when I left on Saturday, so this was clearly another instance of the men encroaching on my space. It irked me, yes, but there really wasn't any room in the tech lab. I was honestly surprised the two men had managed to get anything done in that environment.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, shifting the box to take it's spot on the chair. "Because the woman that came down to the lab this morning looked ready to murder someone if they had to work out of the break room for a minute longer."

He had a point. Shaking my head, I stared at the table. I hated working from the break room. I was far too easily distracted. But would working in amongst the exploding boxes of wires and other technological bits and pieces be any better? "The lab is pretty crowded already," I said slowly, choosing my words carefully so as not to hurt his feelings. "I wouldn't want to get in your way by taking up a bench."

"Don't be silly," Harry said. "You wouldn't be in my way. And I wasn't going to set you up with another makeshift desk in the lab. I was going to set you up in the Tech office."

I tried to raise an eyebrow at that, but probably failed, since I'd never been able to do it in the past. "Tech office? Where's that?"

Harry gave me a dubious look. Apparently he thought I was acting stupid. "In the lab," he said in a tone that definitely told me he thought I was being difficult. I tried to conjure up the lab in my mind. It shouldn't be too hard, since I was there this morning, but all I could see in my memory was boxes. Boxes on benches, boxes under benches, boxes stacked floor to ceiling in the corner. Each more hazardous looking than the last, spilling over with wires and circuit boards and broken bits of old computers and things that were unrecognisable. No office.

"There's no office in the lab," I said confidently. I would have noticed it, right? Just to be sure, I pulled up my brief memories of Hector's immaculate tech lab. Nothing was ever out of place in his domain. There was definitely no office.

"Yes, there is," Harry said easily.

"Where?" I challenged.

"In the back corner."

"You mean in amongst the stacks of boxes?" I questioned. Had they just set up the boxes as the walls of a makeshift office? That was so much worse than trying to stay focused in the break room. I'd spend every second praying that the boxes didn't collapse and burry me under them. And surely the lighting in such a place would be less than great. They'd need lamps and extension cords. What if I accidentally knocked something over and caused a fire? What if Harry had another episode like with the stun gun this morning and toppled the boxes, knocking over a lamp inside and causing a fire in the avalanche? I'd be buried _and_ burned alive. I hadn't survived so many car explosions to die in a completely preventable office fire.

"Behind the boxes," he clarified, leaning on the box. "Listen, you don't have to move down to the lab if you don't want to. I was just trying to find a solution to the problem you presented this morning. I thought you'd leap at the chance to get away from the break room."

"I would," I agreed. "But… I'm not really a tech savvy person, and I don't have the best of luck with chaotic environments. I-" I paused, trying to figure out exactly how to explain my worries to the man. "You know how this morning you had a freak accident and destroyed a security camera?" I waited for him to nod before continuing. "That's like what happens to me all the time, except ten times worse. I'm sure you've heard about all the car explosions."

Harry shook his head. "But that different," he tried to assure me. "That's cars. This is an office. You'd be perfectly safe. I-"

"You don't understand," I interrupted him before he could make any promises I was sure he couldn't keep. My life reacted badly to promises of safety. It's part of the reason I refused to adamantly to go to a safe house. The safer they said I was, the worse things backfired. "It's not just cars. It everything. As soon as I'm 'safe' something happens. My apartment has been fire bombed more times than I can count. And there was the time that the Bonds Office burned down. And the funeral home."

"I'm sure those things had nothing to do with you," Harry cut me off. "They're coincidences. They're-"

"Then my entire life in a series of tragic coincidences," I pointed out. "There's no way to avoid it. Before long, something will happen and with all the electrical parts and boxes, it's just a massive fire hazard. It's a terrible idea."

Harry's hand covered my own clenched fist on the table, so tenderly that I lifted my gaze to meet his. He'd leaned forward at some point during my rant and now his face was inches away from mine with a concerned expression. "Steph," he said. "I assure you, if the tech lab was going to go up in flames, it would have happened by now. I'm not exactly what you'd call un-accident-prone."

I couldn't help the laugh the escaped me. I'm not sure what the correct term for his condition was, but the way he phrased it brought a smile to my face, like when Mary-Lou tried to sugar coat the cold hard truths by handing me a cookie as she said it. "And you want to mix our bad juju together in the same space?" I questioned. That seemed like a guaranteed disaster.

"Well, you'd technically be in a separate space. There's walls and a door and everything," he tried to justify it. "And anything is better than beating off Q the Social Media Addict every day, right?"

As if to prove his point, Mungo and Phil plonked themselves on the couch several feet away and switched on the wall mounted television, turning it up loud enough to penetrate my head, taking over my thoughts with the sports commentary. Ordinarily, I might have been able to work through, I was the kind of person who worked okay with noise, because I tended to make a lot of it, after all. But not this week. Not with the hormones wreaking havoc on my body, making me irritable. I'd been working hard at getting along with men here, obeying their strict rules and adhering to their training schedules, while also trying to be myself. If I stayed in this break room much longer this week, I'd end up unravelling all of that by tearing them all a new one.

I suddenly understood how Tank could invoke so much fear in these men, because they didn't often get a stern yelling at. I'd not heard a single one while I was here. If I allowed myself to snap fully because of this situation, I ran the chance of them fearing me almost as much as Tank. It worked well for Tank, because he liked to keep people at a distance, but I couldn't survive like that. I needed people to like me, to interact with me. There was nothing worse than awkward silence.

Taking a deep breath, partly because the TV now felt annoyingly loud, and partly to steal myself to announce the decision I'd just come to, despite a small part of my brain warning me that things could go drastically wrong. The head was much easier to ignore than my gut instinct, though, and so far it hadn't given me any ill feelings about this particular action.

"Alright. Let's go," I said, picking up the entire in tray/out tray system and placing it inside the box Harry had, at some point, placed on the floor beside him. "I'm clearly not going to be getting anything done up here at the moment."

*o*

It took no time at all to pack up my 'desk' in the break room and carry it downstairs to the tech lab. It was another hour before I caught a glimpse inside the office Harry had promised me existed. Upon entering the lab for the second time today, Harry had set my box of office equipment on the counter next to the laptop I'd left here this morning, and made his way to the back of the room. The area that appeared to be completely filled with boxes, six feet deep. My theory was proven wrong, however, when he climbed up onto one of the stools he'd dragged over, and took down a couple of boxes from the top of one of the stacks, revealing a wall behind it.

So there was definitely, _some_ kind of room back there.

Harry tried three times to remove the correct stacks of boxes that would reveal the door to that room. Which turned out to be locked. And neither his key fob, nor mine worked to gain access. Apparently it had been hidden behind the stacks of boxes for so long that it had not be included in the latest key fob updates. Twenty minutes of computer fiddling, a phone conversation with a guy named Crank, whom I'd never met, and a brief run up to the fifth floor, and we finally had the door open.

I hurried across the space from where I'd turned on my computer and set a search to running while I waited, only to find myself engulfed in a cloud of dust.

"It might have been… a few years since …it's been used," Harry explained through a torrent of sneezes inside the office. "I don't recommend moving anything in here unless you want to fill your airways with even more dust," he added as I took a single coughing step forward. "We'd better get a cleaning crew down before you set up in here. I don't want to be the one responsible for you getting a lung infection or something. I'm sure the Trenton guys would not be lenient in their punishments."

I scoffed at that. "The Trenton guys aren't as over protective as everyone here seems to think," I assured him. "They're not gonna disembowel anyone just because I got sick from some dust."

Harry looked at me for a long moment. "You keep saying stuff like that, but we're still getting threatening phone calls almost every day stating that if we don't take care of you they're gonna take care of us," he explained, propping his hands on his hips. "It's hard to believe what you're saying when we all know how well they can make good on their promises."

The hairs on the back of my necks came alive. No wonder the Boston men were still so prickly around me. A) I still hadn't proven my worth. The cases I'd been given, I'd given my input on, and the men had attempted to do things the way I suggested, but without me in the field with them to show them exactly what I meant, they'd each caved and done things their own way. They seemed to respect my insights on connections, but my methods were foreign and not company approved. And B) They were being constantly reminded that if they stepped over the line even a little bit with me they would have their asses handed to them by the Trenton crew.

"If you'll excuse me," I said, walking backwards out of the office, "I need to go and make a phone call."

"Sure," Harry agreed, his attention having already strayed away from me as he continued to assess the office. "Take your time. This place needs a thorough cleaning before it'll be inhabitable."

On my way to the stairwell, I weighed my options of who to call. Ever since the argument that broke out over monopolising my time when I'd called to check on Rex I'd tried to keep my calls as evenly dispersed between the three of them as possible. Generally, I followed a pattern, unless I needed the specific expertise of one of the others. If I followed my pattern it would be Lester's turn, but I wondered if speaking to Tank on this matter might be a better option. Tank was the most likely to scare the guys into stopping, but in saying that, Lester had a certain way of convincing the other men to do what he wanted.

I may as well give it a shot.

I was dialling as I emerged on the fourth floor, power walking down the hall toward my apartment. It wasn't that I didn't want the Boston men to overhear the conversation that I was about to have, in fact, I thought it would serve them well to hear me defending them. I just needed the exercise involved in walking up the stairs in order to calm me down so that I didn't bite the Merry Man of Choice's head off the moment they answered.

"Hey Beautiful," Lester greeted sounding as free and easy as he always did as he picked up. "I'd love to have a nice long chat, but I have a meeting in five that I can't be late for."

Having closed the door to my apartment, I started pacing, angry energy still coursing through my body. "I won't need more than five," I assured him.

Lester's tone was markedly different when he spoke again. Guarded, concerned, almost hesitant. "What's up?"

"You need to tell the men to stop," I informed him, giving the short answer even though I knew he needed the long answer in order to know exactly what I was talking about. I took a deep breath, huffing out in one puff to get a stray curl out of my face. "You need to tell the men to stop threatening the guys up here. I'm trying my best to get them to like me, but they're all still stand offish. I was completely confused until just now when Harry informed me that the Trenton guys have been calling almost daily to threaten bodily harm if anything happens to me." Another puffed breath proved ineffective, so I snatched it away with my free hand. "I'm not some maiden in need of defending. You guys are ruining my attempts to bond with them."

"Duly noted," Lester said. "I'll start spreading the word straight away, and then I'll have Tank send out an official memo. They'll be suicidal if they don't stop."

"Thank you," I breathed, stopping to lean against the kitchen countered as relief washed over me.

"Anything for you, Beautiful," he assured me. "How have things been other than that?"

"Well, I'm getting an office," I told him, a slight smile on my face.

He reacted exactly as I'd thought he would. Very loud surprise. "WHAT?" Probably, he was thinking that if I was getting an office up here, I'd grow too comfortable and never want to return to my cubicle in Trenton. "Why are they giving you an office?" he managed to ask, much calmer several seconds later. "What did-"

"Relax," I soothed, grabbing a cookie out of the box that had arrived on my doorstep this morning. Another anonymous delivery of baked goods that I was all too happy to accept, even though I was confused and concerned as to who was sending them. "It's just the office in the tech lab. Which doesn't appear to have been used this decade, by the way. It's Harry's solution to me inadvertently killing the next person who messes with my pretend desk in the break room. Plus it makes sense for me to be closer to him if I'm gonna learn how to do system installs."

"System installs?" Lester sounded perplexed. "Why are you doing system installs? That's the tech guys' job."

I rolled my eyes. I was well aware that I wasn't knowledgeable enough to take on the task I'd been assigned to, he didn't have to rub it in. "Well," I said. "I seem to have literally scared off the second tech guy, so now they need someone to fill in and help out."

"And that someone is you?" Lester asked.

"It would seem so."

"While I'm getting memos sent out, I'll warn the Boston guys to have the fire department on standby," Lester said, but I could hear the laughter in his voice.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad," I scolded.

"Keep telling yourself that, Beautiful," Lester outright laughed this time. "If there's one thing I've learned from working with you it's that anything that can explode eventually will. Call it a supernatural ability. Call it a twist of fate. Call it whatever you want, but you have a way of making things around you explode."

Rather than take offense to his statement, I decided to take it in my stride. "I guess I'm just that good," I said in the haughtiest tone I could muster. "Anyway, you need to get off to your meeting and I should get back to work."

Lester made a noise in his throat like he didn't like the sound of that declaration. "Maybe I'll skip the meeting after all," he said. "You can tell me more about this fancy new office of yours. I could tell you about the date idea I have planned for Bobby…"

My heart swelled for the man. Ever since I'd learned about their relationship, they'd both been much more open about discussing it with me, and I was getting the impression that they were both absolutely smitten. The way they each spoke about the other with love and admiration make my chest ache that I didn't have anyone to share that kind of a relationship with in my life. Nothing had ever seemed as overwhelmingly _lovely_ as what Lester and Bobby had. Morelli and I had been toxic since our teenage beginnings. Dickie and I were destined to fall apart from the moment we got together. And Ranger seemed content with keeping his distance from me for the most part. I know that not all of that distance was his fault, but it's hard to get close to a man when he could be called away at a moment's notice and may never return. He knew this was an inevitability and used it as an extra barrier even when we _were_ able to be together.

I'd had three major relationships in my life and each one of them paled in comparison to what Lester and Bobby had together. I know I shouldn't compare myself to them, our lives were very different, but I couldn't help but wonder where I'd gone wrong.

"I'd love that," I told Lester, a sad smile crossing my face as I contemplated my cookie – maybe I should find out who was sending them and ask them for a date. "But we would both get in trouble for ditching work. Call me later when you're free and we'll chat more."

"Okay, Beautiful," he said, conceding defeat. "You're right."

"Give my love to Bobby," I requested.

"I won't," Lester retorted, sounding like a two year old child. "I'll keep it all for myself."

"Whatever," I sighed with an eye roll. "Just make sure that memo goes out today. I can't do anything with these uptight men until they learn to relax around me."

"Yes, ma'am," Lester affirmed mockingly, and quickly hung up before I could scold him for calling me ma'am.

* * *

 _ **Camp NaNoWrimo Word Count: 29,346 (That's right. I finished a chapter with just over 600 words left to go)**_

 _ **A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor.**_


	30. Chapter 30

_Alrighty. This is the last chapter I wrote before beginning Camp NaNoWriMo in July. So pretty soon (by which I mean, as soon as I get around to writing more) you'll be able to see those 30 000 words that haunted me and got you more regular updates for a month._

 **Chapter 30**

"Done," I gasped, quickly, but carefully, placing the gun on the cloth covered table in front of me and raising my hands up beside my head, back to the position I started in before Barrel had said go. I was painting, inexplicably out of breath given that all I'd been doing was sitting here at the table breaking down and reassembling a gun. The biggest movement I'd made in the last ten minutes had been raising my hands, and yet my heart was racing none-the-less.

"Good," Barrel stated with absolutely no inflection in his voice whatsoever. I heard the soft _beep_ as he stopped the timer, coinciding with my first rea deep breath in ten minutes. "I didn't think you were going to make it in time," he added coolly. "But you did."

"How close?" I asked, slowly lowering my hands to grip the edge of the table. I was feeling slightly dizzy all of a sudden, a condition that probably was not helped by my lack of breath and the strip of fabric covering my eyes. Sucking in another lung filling breath, I reached up behind my head intending to untie the blindfold and restore my sight. My fingers, however, had other plans. They were shaking with adrenaline, making my movements ineffective. "Barrel?" I called, thinking he could help me out. I was met with only silence, though, so I kept working at the knot and breathing steadily.

Ten seconds later, all my efforts were made null and void when a gunshot sounded, squeezing a very girly, and undignified squeal from my throat. I abandoned my attempts to loosen the knot and chose instead to push the fabric covering my eyes up and over my head.

"What the fuck?!" I shrieked, unable to contain the words. They burst from my chest without a second to reconsider, not that I think I would have. He was lucky I hadn't soiled myself.

Barrel, who had been preoccupied checking over the gun, snapped his head up to meet my gaze. "What?"

"You wanna give a girl a little warning?!" I requested. "I almost shit my pants!"

His brow furrowed for a fraction of a second, his eyes flickering over me, taking in the blindfold handing from my hair where the knot had caught just a few strands of hair when he'd tied it around my head. "I assumed you would have had the blind fold off already," he explained somewhat sheepishly.

"You know what they say when you assume things," I responded, slowly and painfully pulling the strip of fabric from my hair.

Barrel set the gun back down on the table between us. "My girlfriend would probably agree with you there."

"You have a girlfriend?"

"Yeah. You'll meet her tonight."

"Tonight?" I had no idea wat he was referring to. My plan for the evening, once I'd finished gun training and returned to the tech lab long enough to close out the searches I'd set up earlier, was to return to my apartment on the fourth floor, heat up the left over spaghetti I'd managed to make without incident last night and slipping Ghostbusters into the DVD player for old times' sake. "What's tonight?"

"Partners' Night at Suzan's," Barrel explained, packing the gun back into its case. "Last Monday of every month. Didn't anyone tell you?"

I shook my head. "Why should they?" I asked. "Everyone knows I don't have a partner at the moment, it's part of the reason I'm up here."

Barrel leaned his hands on the table and looked me dead in the eye. It wasn't something I was used to. We'd spent hours in the gun range in my two weeks here, talking and instructing and clarifying instructions, but we rarely made eye contact. My gaze was always focused on his hands, or my hands, or the target at the end of the range. Taking my eyes off the prize meant I'd miss something, and when it came to guns, that could be fatal.

I'd heard the lecture enough now that I could almost recite it word for word. The Bostonites were always going on about how close we were to getting someone killed each and every second of the day. Barrel's instructions were always accompanied by visual cues, and I'd learned quickly that it was better to pay attention to them than what his expression (or lack thereof) was doing.

It went against my instincts. I was a faces person. I needed to be able to see the subtle changes. I needed to see beyond what they were saying to what they were _really_ saying. It's part of how I managed to integrate myself so completely with the Trenton guys. They were disarmed the moment I was able to interpret the true meaning behind their words.

Not watching Barrel's expression had pained me at first, but now I was faced with the complete opposite problem. Looking into Barrel's gaze, I could see the sympathy and concern there. He knew my past, as all the men seemed to. To a certain degree at least. And he felt sorry for me.

"Partners' Night is not just for men with partners," Barrel pronounced gently. "It's just a chance for bonding and mingling. Being _all_ together like that reminds us why we're doing it all. For our families and loved ones. Seeing our friends and colleagues relaxing and just _being_ with their significant others, and sometimes even their children, knowing how hard they work day in and day out to keep the streets, the shopping malls, hell, the _world_ safe… It hits a special place in your heart and makes you want to work just a little bit harder."

He didn't break eye contact, though I wished he would. I was starting to feel uncomfortable. For all their hard rule and strict protocols, the Boston men were really just a bunch of softies trying to do the best to protect each other.

I knew the Merry Men back in Trenton cared just as much about keeping each other and their families alive, but I'd never once head of the men having a Partners' Night. Most of the men I spoke to were pretty tight lipped about their personal lives, believing that the less people that knew how to important a person was to them, the better. Ranger himself had quoted just such a statement as reason to not delve into a more serious relationship with me in the days before my engagement to Morelli.

The two branches appeared to be as different as chalk and cheese, but not for the reasons I'd originally been lead to believe.

"That's deep," I managed to breathe after several seconds of silently willing myself not to cry. (Damn hormones). The Trenton team had warned me that the Boston men all had sticks up their asses, but every day I was learning how untrue that statement was.

"It's what's necessary to keep us focused," Barrel assured me, lowering the lid of the case and locking the gun inside. "We keep a tight leash on our emotions at work, but it's not healthy to keep it bottled up inside for too long. Partners' Night always boosts morale whether you've got one or not."

I nodded that I understood, completely at a loss for words.

"So you'll come?"

"Yeah." How could I not come after hearing that? I wanted to meet the people these men were fighting for. I wanted to see them let their hair down for a change. Sure, they were more casual when they were off duty at Suzan's, but something told me that adding their partners to the mix would allow their true colours to shine through.

"Who's in charge of buddying people up?" I asked, folding up the sheet and following Barrel to the storage locker with it.

He disappeared inside while I waited at the doorway (I didn't have clearance to enter yet) but his voice drifted out to me. "What do you mean?"

"Every time I've gone to Suzan's with the guys everyone is assigned a buddy and a car, but from what I can tell, it's rarely the exact same group of men. And I've never been paired with the same person twice."

"No one told you about the app?" he asked, eyebrows raised in confusion as he reappeared and took the sheet, quickly tucking it away on the shelf just inside the door.

"What app?"

"The app Harry designed to organise social gatherings with the utmost efficiency?" The way he phrased it, like a question, made it seem like it was something that I should have already known. Like it was common knowledge, which to be fair, it probably was.

But not to me.

Nobody had introduced this piece of technology to me.

I shook my head, hands out to my sides, palms up. _Doesn't ring a bell._

He sighed. "Hand me your phone."

I did. And within a few seconds he had the app up and running and was walking me through how to RSVP for a gathering and check my buddy and car allocations. I noticed, while tapping my way through different areas of the app, that it wasn't just used for dinners at Suzan's. There was poker night, Friday Clubbing, Saturday Clubbing, bowling, laser tag, paint ball, movie night, Sunday brunch (of all things!)… I was impressed by the variety of activities these men appeared to get up to outside of work.

*o*

I'd been home long enough to change out of what I'd worn to Suzan's and into my pyjamas, remove the last vestiges of my makeup and settle down on the couch to watch Ghostbusters before bed when my cell phone started ringing, alerting me to an incoming video call request from Lester's phone. I gladly accepted, despite the state of my appearance – slightly red in the face from scrubbing the makeup off, and hair fluffing out everywhere in reaction to the static electricity that had plagued me as I pulled off my blouse a few minutes ago. Truth was my appearance didn't matter. Lester had seen me in much worse condition.

He launched straight into trying to explain his date idea for Bobby when I accepted the call, completely ignoring my mad scientist hair vibes, but had only made it a few sentences into the scene setting when a soft click of the apartment door interrupted him.

"Les?" Bobby called, sounding exhausted.

"Yeah, Bob?" Lester replied, shooting me a quick _keep quiet_ glance as he raised his attention over the top of the screen in his hand. "I wasn't expecting you home for another couple of hours."

"Couldn't keep my eyes open." Bobby's explanation sounded like it was delivered through a wide yawn, and I watched in awe as Lester's features softened. Any residual tension from having been almost caught conspiring seeped quickly from his face, leaving only undiluted love. God, they were a cute couple. "I got Cal to cover the rest of my shift."

Lester shifted, emitting a chair scraping sound as Bobby entered the frame and practically collapsed into his lap.

I felt like I was intruding on a very private moment when Bobby wrapped his arms around Lester's shoulders and buried his head in his neck. Lester reciprocated by embracing him with one arm, keeping the one holding the phone still. It was such a tender interaction that I had to look away or else I might have started to cry.

Stupid hormones. It was bad enough watching the carefree grins on the men eating dinner with the wives at Suzan's, now this.

"Do you think you can stay awake for a few more minutes" Lester asked when Bobby had seemed to relax into him even further.

"No," Bobby mumbled, sounding almost like a petulant child refusing to eat his beans. "I'm going to fall asleep right here."

Lester chuckled. "Suit yourself, but we actually have a guest at the moment."

That had Bobby's spine snapping ramrod straight, his head spinning to take in the apartment surrounding him, looking for this elusive guest. It ok several seconds, but his gaze eventually landed on the phone, locking eyes with me, and his tense expression eased into a welcoming, tired smile as I gave him a small wave.

"Hey Steph," he greeted, shifting on Lester's lap so that his back was leaning against Lester's front, Lester peering over the man's shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Didn't see you there."

"Steph was just telling me about her day," Lester explained before I had a chance to reply. "She's been upgraded to her own private office."

Bobby, caught by surprise at Lester's statement mid-yawn, uttered an inarticulate, "Whaaa?"

I rolled my eyes, knowing that Lester was deliberately misleading Bobby in order to get a reaction out of him. "It's not that big a deal," I pointed out. "It's just a desk in a little room in the back of the tech lab. And it's a safety precaution more than anything."

Both men responded with synchronised single eyebrow raises. Show offs.

"It's to prevent me from tearing apart the next person who thinks it would be a good idea to use my laptop to google snot colour meanings, or how to make the perfect coffee," I explained. "But speaking of my day, do the Trenton guys ever have Partners' Nights?"

Lester and Bobby stared at me in confusion for a full sixty seconds before Bobby ran a hand over his face (I should really get off the phone so Lester could put him to bed) and asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well," I breathed, and then spent the next ten minutes explaining my evening at Suzan's and the reasoning Barrel had given me this afternoon in the gun range. "It's a good idea," I finished up. "Really seems to build a sense of community up here, but I don't think I've ever heard of anything like that back home. Am I wrong?"

Bobby shook his head languidly where it now leaned on Lester's shoulder from the chair beside him. "The guys that do have partners might get together with one or two others from time to time, but nothing official or large scale like that." He punctuated his statement with yet another wide yawn and I decided it was time to say goodnight. Bobby's blinks were getting slower and slower and I had no doubt in my mind that his eyes would cease to reopen given another few minutes of conversation. He deserved to go to bed where he'd be comfortable. It's what he would have insisted on if it was Lester or me struggling to stay awake, so it was what we needed to do to take care of him in return.

"Thanks for the chat, guys," I said. "I should let you both go before Bobby starts snoring."

"'m fine," Bobby responded automatically, though I wasn't surprised to see that his eyes were now closed.

Lester and I both laughed. "No you're not," he said. "Say goodnight to Steph and let's get you to bed."

"Night Steph," Bobby said obediently, cracking one eye open.

"Night guys."

"Night Steph." Lester was still chuckling as he hung up.

* * *

 _ **What better way to start my three weeks holiday from work than finishing up a chapter so I can share some more of the story with all you lovely folk?**_


	31. Chapter 31

Last night was the final dress rehearsal for the show I'm in at the moment, and when I got home I was (typically) wired and nowhere near ready for bed. I tried playing a couple of mind numbing games and even reading, but the moment I opened the book all I could think about was this fanfiction and what needed to happen next, so I grabbed out the old pen and paper I keep beside my bed and by 2am I had a couple thousand words down and was ready to the sleep thing to happen. This morning I got up and went straight to typing up and finishing the chapter. It took a little longer than I thought it would have, but it's done now.

 **Chapter 31**

Arriving at the tech lab the next day was the most terrifying thing I'd done since transferring to Boston. More terrifying than being called to Hugh's office yesterday. More nerve wracking than attempting to replicate the things I'd learned in my cooking lesson with Suzan in the Rangeman apartments. More gut wrenching than having my bags searched upon arrival and al my snacks confiscated.

I opened the door to the lab and almost died. Not some metaphorical death caused by shock. I literally almost died. A stack of boxes taller than Tank launched itself at me, leaning past the door frame precariously for a second that lasted way longer in my head that it probably had in reality, before toppling one by one onto the floor, right where I would have been standing had I taken a single step into the room.

The shriek that escaped my throat as I jumped back, narrowly avoiding having my toes squashed by the second the second box as it rolled off the first, was admittedly extremely girly and screechy, but there wasn't much I could do about that while being attacked by boxes that were out for blood. My only saving grace was that nobody had been around to hear it. Getting the guys on my side was hard enough without having to overcome a sound such as the one that had just escaped me. I wasn't some damsel in need of rescue, which is what I'd been trying to convince the men of with my perseverance through anything they threw at me in the gym or the gun range, and by showing them that I really was an asset when it came to searches. But a performance like that one, shrieking at a bunch of boxes, wasn't going to do much for my cred.

"Are you okay?" a voice asked from the end of the hall.

Unfortunately, my nerves were still on edge from the box outbreak, and I couldn't help the high pitched scream that burst from my mouth. Luckily, I had been leaning on the wall in an attempt to recover from the ordeal, so I didn't land on my ass at the added shock, but it still wasn't looking good for my cred.

"Wow," the voice uttered, accompanied by the soft sound of footsteps, just audible over my heart beat pounding in my ears. "I really have a knack for catching you off guard, don't I?"

Taking a couple of deep breaths, I turned my head toward the voice to see who had scared me the rest of the way to death. Stitch. I should have known. The only office down that end of the hall was his, and he apparently liked to come investigating when he hears screams coming from this end of the hall. "You have a knack for appearing not long after a high stress situation, yes," I agreed, not bothering to move from the wall. My legs were shaking and I didn't trust them to hold me up yet.

Stitch looked like he wanted to grin. "I can't help it."

"Oh, I'm sure you can't," I agreed. "It's part of Rangeman training to be silent and sneak up on people." The number of times one of the Merry Men had startled me by speaking from directly behind me without announcing their presence in some way was too high to count. I'm sure the Trenton guys kept a tally of it somewhere, but that was just because Hank was _really_ into statistics. He kept tallies of ridiculous things like how often Tank arrived to work with cat hair on his cargos. It was a little overwhelming to listen to his segments at the weekly team meetings, because he always had at least six different stats that supported his opinions. Whereas I usually only had my gut to back me up. Sure the guys had learned to respect my gut feelings, but it still didn't sound as impressive as quoting how many times the elevator had broken down in the last year.

"So what's happened here?" Stitch asked, examining the mountain of technological bits and pieces that had spilled into the hallway, creeping after me as I retreated. "I heard your scream and thought I should come check on you. It's not very often I hear screams from the hall down here. Most of the men tend to endure their pain silently so as not to be mocked."

Pushing off the wall behind me, I examined the mess on the floor, glancing towards Stitch pointed. "You're a smart man, what do you think happened?" If he couldn't put two and two together and come up with four I'm not sure I could trust him with my medical well being.

Stitch's eyes seemed to twinkle as he took in the scene once more, scanning for clues that he might have missed as he was walking over. "It appears that Harry and Heath's slovenly ways have finally risen up overnight and decided to take over the world." He toed a couple of plugs that had tumbled a little further than the rest, nudging them back over toward the pile. "Honestly, I'm surprised it's taken this long. I've been predicting that the mess in the lab is going to cause injury for years."

"Well, it didn't cause injury this time," I pointed out. "Just mild heart failure."

He turned his gaze to me, the twinkle gone, replaced by a hard stare that spoke of how serious his next words were going to be. "Stephanie Plum, as the company medic, I advise you, for the sake of your health, not to enter that lab until it has been properly cleaned and organised. That lab is a safety hazard, and until such a time as the clutter has been cleared out, I don't want you in there. The Trenton team is apprehensive enough having you out of their sight, I don't want to cause them even more worry by allowing you to work in an environment where you are literally taking your life into your own hands."

This confused me somewhat, because working in the fugitive apprehension business, every day I stepped out of the building to do my job, I was taking my life into my own hands. They should be used to it by now. Danger comes with the job. I said as much to Stitch, but he shook his head, clearly disagreeing with my statement.

"Danger does come with the territory," he said, "But only outside of the building. Inside the building is a safe haven. We have the best security system in the country and safety measures in place to ensure no one is unduly injured while inside. That lab is not up to code. It's a health risk. Especially for someone as accident prone as Hank's statistics say you are. And Harry not all that much better."

"Harry's not all that much better at what?" Harry's voice asked from the other end of the hall as he emerged from the stairwell.

"Remaining upright and uninjured at all times," Stitch responded without miss a beat. "You need to get some guys together and tidy that lab before you die in there and we never find your body."

Harry came to a stop at the edge of the mountain, brow furrowed under the brim of the ever present hat atop his head. Today's edition? A flat cap. I'd been here a little more than two weeks and hadn't seen him in the same hat twice. How long could he keep up such a habit before repeating hats? Did he have an endless supply? It seemed unlikely that someone could have so many hats that they would never repeat one. How many hats could one person reasonably own?

"What happened here?" he asked, examining the mess spilling out from the lab.

"What happened here?!" Stitch exclaimed. "What happened is that your lab tried to kill Steph!"

"I'm sure it didn't try to _kill_ her…"

"It all came crashing down at me when I opened the door," I said flatly. "I've been the subject of a number of attacks in my time working for Rangeman. Most of them resulting in my body being caked in food and foul substances, but that is beside the point. I know when I'm being attacked. And that pile of boxes was definitely on the offensive."

"I'm sure that pile of boxes would have reacted exactly the same if anyone else had opened the door. Don't take it personally."

Earlier, when the attack was fresh, I'd been mostly willing to just push the stuff aside and get on with my life. I'd been sent up here to work on searches and improving the men's methods in order to suggest other ways of achieving take downs, but apart from that first take down with Jerry and Lock, all I'd achieved was completing searches _for_ the men quicker and more thoroughly than they could have. There had been no hidden nuggets of information in any of the searches I'd done that allowed me to open the men's eyes to other methods. Not only that, after yesterday's outing for peanut butter, and the change of desks that was less straight forward than it should have been, I got exactly zero searches done yesterday. I spent absolutely no time at my computer. Now, even more of my time was wasting away, because I was apparently forbidden from entering the lab where all my files and laptop were.

"How am I supposed to get my work done if I'm not allowed in the lab?" I asked the men, who had begun moving boxes and clearing the entrance.

Stitch and Harry both looked up from their tasks, eyes going from me, to the lab mess, and back. Probably calculating risks and formulating plans in their heads. "Once the way is clear," Stitch said slowly, now staring at Harry instead of me. "Harry will retrieve the things you need from the office and you can use one of the exam rooms in the medical suite until the lab is safe."

"It's gonna take a while to sort and store all that junk properly," Harry pointed out.

"Then perhaps you shouldn't have let it get that bad," Stitch retorted. "If you had a system and you put things away as soon as you're done with them it wouldn't have gotten this bad in the first place."

A light bulb flickered to life inside my head as I recalled Hectors immaculate set up back in Trenton. Harry wouldn't need to devise his own system for storing things if I got Hector to send me the plans for his lab. That would definitely be a time saver. "I just had an idea," I announced. "I'm gonna go make a call and see if we can make it work, you get some guys down here to start clearing out the lab."

*o*

As it turns out, the cupboards, shelves and drawers that the tech lab comes with as standard, is not enough to sufficiently organise all the tools and equipment needed in the lab, and as such, Hector had outfitted his lab with a bunch of Ikea Alex drawers lined up side by side and labelled just right. I got him to send through the layout and details of all the products he used. When I pitched the change to Harry he'd been all for it, ready to roll out the door for an Ikea trip right that second. It wasn't until Yetti, who had been roped into helping move all the boxes out of the lab and into the spare conference room down the hall, pointed out that we needed approval from the finance division to make the purchases that he cooled his jets.

Yetti, apparently the master of writing successful proposals, had taken all the information Hector had sent me and holed up in the medical suite with Stitch to write their justification of spending so much money on storage for the lab. Between them it had taken about an hour to write it and send it off to the right people, and another forty eight hours for the finance division to approve it.

During this time I got to spend my work time inhaling the too-clean smell of disinfectant that I hated hospitals for. The silence in the medical suite was a welcome change from the constant distractions of the break room, but I did miss some of the noise. Even the command floor, while always quiet, had a constant burble of chatter throughout the space. I thought about playing some music, just to have some background noise, but I didn't want to distract Stitch who had so graciously opened his work space to me. So silence is what I had to put up with.

I was just setting up a search request for one of the higher end bonds we'd received Thursday morning when Harry burst into the room, dispelling the stillness and serenity that had been grating at my nerves for the last hour, radiating excitement as he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet in the doorway, almost dislodging his beret in the process.

"We've been approved!" he exclaimed. "We can go to Ikea and spend up big! Let's go! Let's go!"

This was the most animated I had seen any of the Boston Merry Men. They were all very calm and deliberate with their movements. And words. And expressions. I'm not sure any of them had cracked a real smile since I arrived. They were difficult to joke with, probably due, in part, to the threats they'd received from the Trenton guys, but I'd put an end to that, so hopefully they would open up a little more. Could I even call them Merry Men if they weren't merry? Perhaps I'd have to think up a collective name for the Boston Crew that was unique to them.

I spared a moment to glance at Harry, pleased to see an actual expression on his face. He'd been more serious than usual the last couple of days. I think Stitch's decree that I not be allowed back in the lab until he deemed it safe had really hit him hard. He'd apologised several times for the box incident, even though I kept assuring him that I hadn't actually been hurt. I think he just feels guilty for my current lack of desk situation. It _was_ sort of his fault.

Without saying a word, I turned back to my laptop, set up on the exam table while I sat on the rolling stool, and continued setting up the search. I'd only made a couple of clicks when Harry's voice cut through the silence once more. "Come on, come on, come one!" he cried. "We have to go!"

"I have work to do, Harry," I pointed out. "I can't just drop everything to accompany you to Ikea. Why don't you just order it online and get it delivered?"

The sigh that left him was half grunt as he collapsed his torso on the exam table beside me. "That'll take DAYS," he moaned. "If we go to Ikea today we not only get the experience of walking through all the displays and eating Swedish cuisine, but we get to take home the stuff TODAY and start putting it together with an Alan Key TODAY!"

His enthusiasm for Ikea was bordering on annoying, but at the same time was extremely cute. It was like when Lester kept begging me to go to Six Flags with him last year. Bobby was away, Tank doesn't do amusement parks and they had a new ride opening that Lester _needed_ to try. He'd followed me around the office for days, luring me in with puppy dog eyes until I finally said yes, at which point he danced around singing "Bohemian Rhapsody," of all songs. He was the happiest guy in the world for the full three days leading up to the day we finally went to the amusement park.

"I have to get this search done," I said, trying not to let a smile creep onto my face. I didn't want him to know he was amusing me. If he knew that it was all lost. He'd have all the knowledge he needed to get under my skin and convince me to do stuff. It was exactly how Lester and I had become such good friends.

"Set it to going and then come with me," Harry implored. "Please?! You can read through it all when we get back. I promise." He was worse than my nieces begging me to play dolls with them.

Finally hitting the final 'go' button, I dropped my hands from the keyboard and turned my stool to face him fully. "Why is it so important that I come with you? Surely you can manage it by yourself?"

Harry straightened at once, my attention perking him up, but while he stood tall and confident, his left hand crept up and tugged at the side of his beret, shifting it slightly on his head. What was he nervous about? "I'm actually not allowed to go to Ikea alone," he explained, all hints of his excitement having vanished into thin air. "Not since the Christmas incident of 2012."

"What's the Christmas incident of 2012?"

"I bought everyone's Christmas gifts from Ikea," he explained.

I opened my mouth to point out that that wasn't so bad, but he held up a hand, cutting off any words I may have uttered.

"I was there when the store opened and didn't leave until closing time," he added.

Once again, I tried to ask how this was a bad thing, but he shook his head solemnly.

"I did it five days in a row," he said. "Reese had to hide my car keys so I wouldn't return on day six. There's just so much packed in there that I was afraid I'd miss something so I had to keep going back and exploring every nook and cranny. They had to stage an intervention. I had to promise I wouldn't go back alone."

"But why me? Why do _I_ have to come with you?"

"Because all of the guys have already refused to ever return to Ikea with me. Please, Steph! I need to get the lab in order! _YOU_ need me to get the lab in order! Please? Please, please, please, please, pl-."

"Fine!" I said loudly, so that he would hear over his own begging. "But only because I want to see what kind of a mind-fuck Ikea does to you."

"YES!" Harry yelled, executing a brief, but sophisticated victory dance (far better choreography than Lester's Bohemian Rhapsody dance). But then he ruined it by removing his beret, revealing those silky blonde waves before quickly hiding them away once more under a brightly coloured propeller hat. "Let's go!" he enthused, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward the door.

"Are you really wearing that hat right now?" I asked, digging in my heels as I attempted not to laugh.

The grin dropped from his face immediately. "What's wrong with my hat?" he asked. "This is my Ikea hat. This is the hat I always wear to Ikea. I love this hat."

"There's nothing wrong with the hat," I chuckled. "I just have never seen a grown man wearing a propeller hat before."

"Oh good," Harry said, sounding relieved. "For a second there I thought you were going to insist I take it off or you weren't coming." __

* * *

 _ **In a couple hours I'll be on stage for opening night! I hope you're all having an equally exciting weekend!**_


	32. Chapter 32

_So I haven't written another chapter for this story, but I've decided that I would like to start posting what I have. Updates will be once a week for the next ten weeks (or more if I end up writing more in that time.)_

 **Chapter 32**

I thought I was familiar with blank stares. I'd been receiving them from the men on a regular basis for some time now and had assumed I'd seen all the many variations there could possibly be. There was the "you've got to be kidding me" blank face, the "not in this life time" blank face, the "if I tell you, I'll have to kill you" blank face, the "you're amusing me but I don't want to you know it" blank face (a personal favourite of mine). There was the "I've been told not to indulge or encourage your antics" blank face, the "I tuned out what you're saying several minutes ago" blank face, and the "this is for your own good" blank face. I'd even encountered the "how did you get past security" blank face, and the "You lost me" blank faces. But Lock and Tree had taken that one to a _whole_ new level.

Normally, a blank face is simply the men's way of shutting down their emotions and schooling their features into some neutral configuration they had mastered in order to not give away any information about what they were thinking or how they were feeling. I was sure there was a secret class on it that they taught during orientation and I had simply not been required to adhere to that particular protocol, just like with the self-defence and gun training I hadn't been forced to do back in Trenton. But that was beside the point here. The blank faces that Lock and Tree were staring back at me with right now had surpassed the neutral, no-expression, Rangeman standard issue blank face. Instead they stared at me with blank expressions so lost and confused that I was beginning to question if they understood English.

They did, of course. I knew they did. I'd had several conversations with each of them in the four weeks since I arrived in Boston. They were regulars at the bi-weekly Diner Dinners that I had pretty much permanently signed up for, and I often found myself sharing a table with them. Along with Barrel, Shock and Harry, they were coming to be my Boston Posse, my substitute familiars.

From my experience interacting with the Boston Merry Men (I still had to figure out the proper collective noun for a group of Boston based Rangeman employees) these five men were the easiest going, or at least the ones who accepted me the most. Everyone else was either afraid to come anywhere near me for fear of invoking Trenton's wrath, or held disdain toward me. Because I'm a woman? Because I've lived and worked above the strict protocols without consequences for years? Because I didn't have the training they had and was here to teach them a thing or two about their jobs?

It could have been any number or combination of reasons, but making friends and allies in Boston proven difficult so far. The best I could hope for was that the men I'd given pointers to would at least them a try. It seemed doubtful, given that I was still not cleared for field work and as such could not accompany them on their take downs and demonstrate the techniques I was suggestion. Getting the men to understand that sometimes kicking down the door with guns a-blazing wasn't the best idea was like pushing shit up hill.

"I don't understand," Lock finally admitted after several minutes of silent staring following the end of my explanation. I was starting to think they'd both had simultaneous brain aneurisms and I should duck down the hall to grab Stitch to check them out, but luckily Lock regained his ability speak and function and I was saved from doing so. "You want us to do what?"

"Why would we put an innocent woman in a dangerous situation like that?" Tree asked, his brows creasing, shattering the blank mask that had slowly crept onto his face as I spoke through my plan with them.

"Are you telling me you guys have never done a distraction before?" I asked, shutting the file folder on the desk in front of me. It didn't seem possible. Distractions were such big part of my contributions to Rangeman back in Trenton, but Lock and Tree were acting like they'd never even heard of one.

"Of course we've done distractions before," Lock assured me, his chest puffing out like I'd offending him on a deeply personal level. Distractions are a great tool for infiltrating back rooms of gang clubs. One person distracts the front man while the others sneak in and either nab the guy or gather the intel we need."

"Right," Tree agreed, nodding his head so vigorously that I was afraid it would fall off. "But we've never used a woman as the distraction before."

"You're kidding me." Surely they couldn't be serious about this. It was fundamental to success! "Guys," I implored. "What is the number one thing that is guaranteed to distract all straight men?"

They shared a look, regular blank faces in place, thankfully. Something told me they weren't willing to admit the answer that they knew was true and correct. Probably, they were afraid that I would take offence on behalf of the entire female population of America if they said what I knew they were thinking. Or at least I hoped they were thinking, because it was the answer I was leading them to. I was going to be so disappointed if they said anything else.

"An attractive woman," I said on an exasperated sigh, taking pity on them after a full minute of silence. "Please tell me that was the answer you two were silently discussing."

"Uh," Tree uttered, clearly unsure if he should admit it. "I-"

I shook my head, cutting off whatever he was about to say. "Look, I know I've come up with some radical methods that have been rubbing people the wrong way because they're against SOP, but distractions like this _are_ standard operating procedure down in Trenton. Are you really telling me that you guys have never used a pretty woman to lure a man out of a bar before?"

Tree straightened his spine, pulling himself up to his full height, which even seated was considerably taller than Lock and myself. "At Boston Rangeman we pride ourselves on minimising occurrences of civilian injuries directly caused by our actions," he stated, like he was reciting the lines from a rule book. "Deliberately putting a woman in close quarters with a man who was arrested for assaulting a woman behind a club goes against every single thread of that code. What if the he chose to make the woman his next victim?"

"That's why you don't send her in alone," I pointed out. "You have a guy behind the bar, making sure her drinks are virgin, you have one or two milling around the bar, and a few stationed outside. Everyone is wearing comms and the woman-"

"The bait," Lock corrected.

"The woman," I said more firmly. "Is wired up as well. If anything goes wrong you've got half a dozen men ready to spring into action."

"What woman in their right mind would agree to this?" Lock questioned. He'd dropped all pretences of the blank face now, in favour of staring at me incredulously. "I wouldn't want my girlfriend sitting on the bar stool next to the low life scum, and I can't imagine anyone else allowing their girlfriend, fiancé, wife, daughter, mother, or anyone else, doing it either. It just doesn't seem like a good plan."

The hairs on the back of my neck rose in indignation. "First of all, what gives you the right to tell anyone, let alone a woman, what to do?" I had to grip the pen in my hand very tightly in order to prevent myself from accidentally throwing it at him. "And second, you're assuming that the woman in question would be completely defenceless and have absolutely redeeming skills that could get her out of a bind. What if the woman chosen for the distraction was trained?"

"I suppose that's a little different," Tree admitted, relaxing back into his chair a little. He crossed one abnormally long leg over the other, his mostly blank expression hinting at deep thoughts racing around behind his eyes. "Where would we even find a willing female with enough skill, though?"

I wanted to scream, or sigh. Maybe both? Was there such a thing as a screaming sigh? Either way, I couldn't believe the men could be so oblivious. How did they think I would know so much about such a manoeuvre? I'd done more distractions than I could count (although, Hank probably had a stat for that), and I could count on one hand how many of those distractions had been botched. Usually if something went wrong everyone involved, including myself, was able to think quickly enough and with enough synchronicity that it all worked out okay in the end. Of course, a good part of that probably had something to do with the men knowing each other almost as well as they knew themselves, which I'm sure the Boston Merry Men (maybe I could call them Lost Boys?) probably did know each other that well.

"I suppose we could ask Pebbles' wife," Lock suggested, leaning his elbows on the desk and rubbing his chin. "She teaches self-defence to those underprivileged kids down town, so you know she could handle herself if things went wrong."

"True," Tree agreed. "And she's sexy as hell."

Lock made a sound of appreciation as they each took a moment to apparently admire the mental photograph of Pebbles' wife they had stored in the file of their brain. _Men_.

"Right," I said, breaking the awkward (for me at least) silence and sliding the file toward them. "I'll leave that in your capable hands. Talk it over with Hawk and Hugh, see what they say. If you have any further questions you know where to find me." I didn't wait for them to stand, or even acknowledge that I'd said anything. I just swivelled my chair back toward my laptop and started downloading the information from the searches I'd set to running before Lock and Tree had arrived.

They were so caught up in the idea of a distraction and working with an attractive woman (like I wasn't one?) that they barely spared me a second glance, talking rapidly as they stood and made their way out the door. Not once did they look back, or even toss a "Thanks Steph" over their shoulders. I get that they were excited by the new world I had opened up for them, but I would have thought they, of all people, would have had a little more appreciation for the effort I had put in for them. They'd been two of only a handful of truly supportive men here.

But even they couldn't see past the fact that I'd been working with Rangeman for years now and still wasn't at an acceptable level of self defence and gun training that qualified me for field work. To them, I was nothing but a desk jockey. A person they conveniently had on hand to run in depth searches for them while they were running around town catching bad guys and not being stuck in the office doing paperwork.

And to make matters worse, they hadn't even considered me when I'd mentioned an attractive female.

Rolling my eyes, and muttering to myself about the single minded nature of men, I hit a few keys a little too aggressively and almost jumped clear out of my skin when Harry's voice behind me cut through the silence.

"So that went well, then?" he asked casually, sending my heartrate skyrocketing and my reflexes reaching for the stapler beside the keyboard, ready to throw.

"Jesus Christ, Harry," I growled, releasing my grip on the stapler and slowly turning to face him. "Have you ever head of knocking? Clearing your throat? Announcing your presence in some way before you just launch into a conversation? You're gonna give me a heart attack."

Harry was leaning against the door jamb, a navy train conductor's cap atop his head and an amused expression on his face. This wasn't the first time he'd scared the shit out of me since I officially moved into the tech office on Monday. We were past ten now. I had a feeling he was doing it deliberately, just to watch my reaction. His next words, along with the way his lips quirked up ever so slightly more, like he was trying to suppress a full blown grin, confirmed it. "I have heard of all of those things," Harry assured me. "I've even practiced a few of them in the past week. By all accounts, the type of noise made doesn't matter. You get too far into your own little world and tune out everything around you so that the moment someone bursts your little bubble of oblivion you're caught off guard, plunged into an adrenaline rush."

"I know I get tunnel vision," I said. "It's been a constant problem. One of the phrases I've heard most often leave Ranger's mouth in my presence is, _You need to be more aware of your surroundings, Babe._ "

"Not to invoke your wrath and have that stapler _actually_ thrown at my head for a change, but you really do need to be more aware of your surroundings."

I shot him a glare, but decided to leave the stapler on the desk. He wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know. It was just one more thing to add to the list of things I needed to improve on if I ever wanted to get out of this office and explore a new set of criminals that could throw left overs at me. How I was supposed to improve this particular skill, though, I had no idea. I couldn't help the fact that my mind focused hard on one or two things and ignored the rest of the world. Well, I mean, I probably could help it. The guys had to have learned their awareness from somewhere, right?

"How do you train to be so aware of your surroundings?" I asked, turning my chair to face him properly.

"A childhood spent in fear of getting my underwear pulled up over my head by my older sister," Harry said, an expression so grave that I had to believe he was telling the absolute truth. Lester probably would have pulled a line something like that, but it would have been obvious he was joking by his expression. He'd try for a serious face like the one Harry was displaying, but there was always something not quite right about it that ruined the effect. Either Harry was serious, or he was a master of the poker face.

"Okay," I allowed, not wanting to delve into his childhood trauma, I had enough of that for myself. "But does the military teach you to pay attention to everything around you?"

Harry shrugged. "Haven't got a clue," he said. "I was never in the military."

This came as a shock to me. He had that same air of confidence about him as the guys I knew for a fact served in the armed forces. He showed the same power and strength. Seemed to have the same knowledge base. I'd seen him sparring with the others, he held his own easily, even beating a couple of them. I had just assumed he would have served. That's how most of the men got into this business. Ranger had set Rangeman up with the intention of not only providing a much needed security service, but a place for military men to contribute to the world without the corrupt word of the government overshadowing their sense of justice.

In saying that, though, I was abundantly aware of the fact that not everyone that worked at Rangeman was military or ex-military. Like me. I had no such background. Bad example, I guess, since by the Lost Boy's (I don't think that name is quite right, but it needs a few more tries before I can totally can it) remarks I was barely a Rangeman employee. Hector, though, he was a valued member of the Trenton team. He didn't have a military background. Ranger recruited him off the streets from a volatile gang environment.

"Were you in a gang then?" I asked, without thinking.

Luckily, judging by the laughter that spilled from his chest, Harry thought I was joking. His face lit up with joy, sparkling off his pearly white teeth. "That's a ridiculous notation," he gasped several seconds later, having managed to calm himself by abruptly snapping his head back into an upright position, one hand grabbing his had as it attempted to slide off. "I wouldn't last ten seconds in a gang."

"Then how did you get so good at all the things the rest of the guys would have already been good at?" I asked, shoulders sagging as I realised what that meant. He was a regular civilian like me. Not exactly the best encouragement I'd ever had. If he was a regular person off the streets with no history of combat training or having to fight for survival prior to joining the company and he was now as good as the rest of the men he worked with, then that spoke ill of how I had faired working at Rangeman. It's possible he might have been an employee longer, but I still should have gained enough skills to work alongside my colleagues without being a liability after five years, right?

Harry shook his head, pulling the brim of his cap down a little further as he entered the room fully and claimed one of the two visitors chairs that had recently been vacated. He caught my gaze, holding it with enough intensity in his stormy grey eyes that I found it impossible to look away. "Hard work and perseverance," he said finally. "Rangeman has a rigorous training regime for newbies such as you and me. They work you hard and demand that you fight back, no matter what they throw at you, because out in the real world the people we deal with aren't gonna go easy on you, they're not going to cut you some slack because you're new. They're going to come at you full force and if you're not ready, if you don't know seven different techniques to deal with the way they're coming at you, you're gonna find yourself in hospital. And that's if you're lucky."

That sounded about right. The amount of times I'd been hurt by a skip, beaten to a pulp, tossed off of and on to things, I should have been dead. I should have realised that something needed to change in the situation, and that that something was me. The guys back home should have realised something was seriously out of balance and urged me to make a change, to get training.

They tried the fitness thing a few times, dragging me out of my bed at fuck-you o'clock to run torturous distances, too much of it uphill. Part of me wondered if they were ever really expecting me to succeed with the methods they took to try to help me better myself. A person doesn't go from the couch to being able to run ten miles without dying by just making the decision to do so. It's something that needs to be built up to. Like a skyscraper, you can't just start building level 35 in thin air, you need to start from the foundation and keep building up.

I needed to start building my training regime if I wanted to go from this ramshackle, half assed level one, to a powerhouse, full assed level 35 bounty hunter. I needed to kick it up a notch, and I needed the people around me to hold me to it no matter how much I regretted the decision later. Luckily, I seem to have come to the right place. Boston Rangeman was all for enforcing rules and regulations, they'll have no problem making me stick to my promise.

"What?" Harry asked, scrapping his chair back a few inches, a look of concern on his face. "What's happening? What is your face doing? Why are you looking like that?"

"I'm sick of being the damsel in distress," I declared, lacing my fingers together tightly on the desk. "I want to be a valued member of the Rangeman team, capable of contributing at the same level as anyone else."

Harry was nodding like he agreed with my determination, but I noticed that his chair had slid back another inch or so. "Sure," he said, tugging at his hat. "That's the goal you're working toward with Mungo and Barrel, isn't it?"

"Being an equally capable team member is more than being able to take down opponents and shoot at them," I prompted. "You said just before that I needed to be more aware of my surroundings."

"Technically, you said that."

"And I'm sure there's a bunch of other things that I need to work on in order to be at an appropriate level of field readiness, right?"

Harry nodded.

"I want to be better. I want all of the necessary training, not just to qualify for field work, but to be the best damn bounty hunter I can be." I hadn't been this determined since Black Friday last year when I realised I only had one pair of clean jeans left and they weren't very generous in the waistband area. The food baby Thanksgiving had left me with was hell bent to stop me from buttoning that fly, but I was not in the mood to give in to a pair of pants. "I want you to help me," I said earnestly. "You're one of probably only a handful of men who understand what it's like to enter this company on zero skills and work your way up. You've been through all the training, you know what works and what's extra hellish. And you know how to put things so a layman can understand."

One of his eyebrows quirked sceptically at that last statement. "You say that now," he said. "But I have a feeling you'll be changing your tune after your first install with me. I'm a tech head. I use the technical names for things and I have a feeling you're not familiar with them. I'm willing to train you, but you may wish you retract your request for my help once you've experienced my attempts at dumbing things down."

I shook my head. "Nothing is going to make me back down," I stated firmly.

"Good!" His tone had gone from grim to jovial like a switch had been flipped. "Because you're about to experience your first system install. Are you ready for the learning to begin?!"

* * *

 _ **For those who are not reading Sink or Swim, I will be attempting NaNoWriMo again this November, dividing my word count between Sink or Swim, Over Your Head and possible an original story idea, so hopefully you have a few updates to look forward to next month.**_


	33. Chapter 33

_After committing to one chapter a week until I'd posted all my prewritten chapters, I failed on week two. To be fair, I was planning on a regular Wednesday update, but then Wednesday this week ended up being VERY full with a network meeting. So. It is now Sunday. I have only just remembered my pledge. Here is the chapter._

 **Chapter 33**

The next day, I stepped out of the elevator on the fourth floor to follow up with a couple of men I'd shown some search techniques to last week when I encountered the formidable presence of Hawk, the second in command, standing before me, arms crossed, serious expression on his face. It was first thing in the morning, so my coffee had still yet to kick in. Hopefully whatever had brought Hawk to me wouldn't need the majority of my brain cells, because I was pretty sure they were still asleep in my apartment upstairs.

"Morning," I greeted, straightening my shoulders slightly in a bid to look more alert.

"Good morning, Ms. Plum," he replied. His tone was flat, which wasn't unusual. All the men here seemed to affect a flat tone, particularly when conversing with me, but it felt off with Hawk, because I knew we'd had interactions with more expression. Hopefully, I wasn't in trouble. "Kindly do me a favour by accompanying me to Hugh's office."

That doesn't mean I'm in trouble, right? Maybe Hugh just wanted to commend me on my efforts lately? I sighed. Hugh didn't really seem the type to praise his subordinates. I was more likely to be ripped a new asshole, not that I could think of a single reason why. I hadn't left the building for work purposes other than the installation yesterday. I was keeping up with my training: Barrel had said that I was improving steadily, Mungo wasn't quite convinced I was throwing my all into the gym, though. I hadn't crossed any lines that I knew of. I'd been working hard and keeping my head down.

Following Hawk down the corridor, I tried to remember if I had skipped anything, or missed a vital step somewhere. Was I supposed to get approval before going out to system installs with Harry? I hadn't been told I needed to, but then again, perhaps it was supposed to be common knowledge that you check in before leaving the building and I'd just missed that instruction, the same way I'd missed basic training.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of Hugh's desk, Hawk having taken a seat beside me. I didn't know whether to sit or stay standing. What was the protocol here? Did I need to wait for an invitation? Could I just plonk my ass down? Why did Boston have to be so strict and rigid? If this were Ranger's or Tank's office, I would have sunk into a seat without thinking.

"Take a seat Ms. Plum," Hawk suggested. "You're not in trouble. We just want to chat."

He said that, but Hugh was glaring at me over the edge of his coffee mug, bags under his eyes so large they could have carried all the luggage he needed for a month long trip abroad. Hugh was a character I was still trying to come to terms with. He was the head of the Boston branch and clearly ran a tight ship, but his demeanour left six thousand questions running through my brain. Why did he always look like death warmed up? Harry had said reason he was like this had something to do with anxiety, but that the real answers were much deeper, what was he referring to? How could he inspire and lead if he was always gripping either a bottle of tums, or a mug of coffee?

"Ms. Plum," Hawk said again.

"It's Steph," I reminded him. How many times had I reminded him now? Enough that he should have remembered, surely. Everyone else got the message.

He gave a slight nod of apology. "Steph," he tried again. "Please sit."

"What's this about?" I asked, settling my ass on the edge of the chair. It wasn't as comfortable as the chairs in Ranger's office, and even they weren't the best chairs I'd experienced. Sitting on the edge was an evasive manoeuvre, firstly, to avoid the weird butt moulding section at the back that didn't quite mould in the right ways, and secondly to allow for a quick exit if needed.

Hugh set his mug aside and leaned back in his chair crossing his arms over his chest as he continued to glare at me. Maybe he just has resting bitch face, I tried to reason. His blank face just happened to be surlier than most peoples. He couldn't help it. It was like Shock and his eyebrows. He couldn't school them into a neutral expression, maybe every time Hugh tried to school his features he came up with this lovely, people repelling stare.

"Tree and Lock came to me yesterday with an idea you had suggested," he explained while I was still mulling over his face. "A distraction, in a bar, using a female as bait to lure a convicted criminal with a history of violence toward women. Is this correct?"

"That about sums it up," I confirmed.

"You understand how dangerous that plan is?"

"I understand it comes with a certain amount of risk, but I'm sure it's nothing that your men can handle," I pointed out. "They are a well-oiled machine, capable of working together seamlessly and facing any challenge that arises."

Hugh shook his head, leaning forward, his fists clenched tightly on the blotter covered desk. "You're suggesting handing a woman to this blood thirsty scum, like giving a caged lion a hunk of meat, and hope that he doesn't maul her before she can lead him out of the club," He gritted out, staring at the table top. "How am I supposed to justify that to the woman? Do you know what kind of legal ramifications come with that kind of action? I have a duty of care to anyone-"

"First of all," I cut him off, done with his whining. "You don't _have_ to justify it to some woman, because I'm volunteering myself for the position. I've done it hundreds of times back in Trenton and I fit the description of ninety percent of his victims. He has a type, and I'm it. And second of all, if you keep sitting here worrying about what's gonna happen if, by some string of bad luck, something goes wrong, you'll never get anything done. By all means, weigh the pros and cons, but don't spend all your time creating arguments against something you've never even tried before!"

The ticking of the clock on the wall behind the desk, and the sound of my heavy breaths was all that could be heard for several seconds after my outburst.

"Sir, Ms Plu- uh, Steph, is right," Hawk said quietly. "We should consider this option some more. She was sent here to help us and she's trying, but if we keep shutting her suggestions down without even attempting to give it a go, we're doing ourselves an injustice."

Hugh scoffed. "And why should I listen to the ideas of an untrained, disaster of a woman?"

That was it. I was done playing nice. "It was my understanding that you were _begging_ Ranger to send me up here to share around my skills," I seethed, suddenly on my feet and leaning across the desk toward him. "You _wanted_ me up here to help with the background searches. Well, guess what, I'm not just some desk jockey. I don't just sit at a computer all day and plug search terms into a computer program. I have _experience_ in the field, even if I don't have all the _'required training'_ " I air quoted. "And part of what makes me so _good_ at background searches, is my ability to pick up on little details that no one else does and devise a way to use those to our advantage during the take down process. So yes, some of my ideas are a little unorthodox and your men, who all have sticks up their butts, by the way, no doubt thanks to you, don't feel right approaching their mark without a hand on their gun, but my methods work. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

Neither of the men said anything. Hawk sat still as a statue in his chair, everything solid as rock, but for his eyes slowly oscillating between Hugh and myself. His expression, predictably, was neutral, probably assessing the threat level in the room and which of us was more likely to cause a problem in the immediate future. I didn't envy the man, having to work so closely with Hugh, whose moods varied from rage to sour but not much better that.

At the moment it was definitely closer to rage. His face was red and the glare he'd held throughout our conversation had intensified so that I could almost feel the daggers he was shoot at me. I didn't back down, though. He needed to know that I wasn't afraid to stand against him, weather it cost me my job in this building or not. He was being narrow minded and hindering my ability to do the job I was sent up here to do. His rules were _too_ restrictive.

As I watched, reciprocating his death rays, he reached slowly into the top draw of his overly large desk and pulled out a familiar bottle. Pepto Bismol. The drug of choice for those with heart burn, reflux, control issues and girlfriends who refuse to be reduced to a barefoot housewife. He held my gaze steadily as he unscrewed the cap, brought the bottle to his lips, and took a swig. The silence continued to stretch as he replaced the lid, and returned the bottle to the drawer. And then further on through time as we all stayed frozen in this Mexican stand-off.

Just as I was starting to think we would all be stuck in this moment, trapped inside this office forever with no way out other than for one of us (definitely not me) to admit defeat, there was a knock on the door, shattering the fragile silence we were living in.

"Enter," Hugh called roughly, still not shifting his gaze from me.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir," the man on the outside was saying before he'd even fully opened the door. "There's an issue on the monitors that we think you should see."

Hugh didn't even miss a beat. He would out of his chair and crossing the office before I even had a chance to see who was at the door. "I'm on my way," he was saying. "Hawk, you deal with this distraction hoodoo."

In his absence, I collapsed back into the chair, all of the tension seeping from my body. Why did Hugh have to be so pig headed and set in his ways that it lit a fire inside me?

"Perhaps because you're experience of the world, and this company, has been vastly different from his," Hawk said mildly, rousing a groan deep in my chest.

"I said that out loud, didn't I?" I asked, already knowing the answer. I'd been so good at keeping my thoughts locked away inside my head recently, especially given everything that had gone on. I thought I'd finally kicked the habit of blurting what I was thinking.

Hawk nodded, getting to his feet. "I take it from your reaction that this is not an uncommon occurrence in your life and you wish it were."

"Correctamundo," I confirmed.

"Well," Hawk said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "At least now I can tell you that you're not alone in your feelings toward Hugh. He's not exactly the most inspiring leader. More of a worrier than a warrior. Doesn't like to take risks. Likes his status quo life. He's been rubbing the men up the wrong way for about as long as this branch has been open. Guys from other branches don't generally last very long here, they stay long enough to get the job done or get transferred back out."

"So most of the men here have never experienced Trenton or Miami Rangeman?"

"Almost all of them."

"What about you?"

He shrugged. "I was handpicked by Ranger to come up here and try and loosen the vise-like grip Hugh has on everyone's balls. Easier said than done. There's only so much I can do, even as second in command, without being viewed as completely insubordinate. But you," he pointed a finger at me, his wry expression revealing the presence of a new thought occurring to him. "You have a certain amount of immunity. You may be held to the field readiness rules, but other than that, you pretty much have free reign here. No one can touch you, and no one will – not even Hugh – if they value their life at all. You may be just what we needed to shake things up around here."

I wasn't sure how accurate that statement was, but I didn't get a chance to debate it, because a small ping from Hawk's pocket prompted the end of the conversation.

"I've got meetings for the rest of the morning," he said, checking his watch with a barely there grimace. "But I'd like to discuss this distraction job more. How does fourteen-thirty sound? I'll come down to the tech lab."

*0*

"How's my favourite camper?" Tank asked by way of greeting as he picked up. I'd waited until I made it into the stairwell and checked to make sure it was empty before dialling.

"I think I'm being coerced into insubordination?" I said, still not entirely sure how to take Hawk's words. I got that because of my connection to Ranger, such as they were, the men were bound to protect me at all costs and therefore could not take any actions that would harm me, but surely there were limits to that protection. If I started blatantly breaking rules I was gonna get myself kicked out, even if it was just back Trenton.

"Explain," he ordered, any traces of the joking friend who'd answered the phone evaporating, leaving behind the nothing-but-business second in command persona I hadn't experienced in about a year.

"Well, I was working on a file for a couple of guys," I began. "And realised that it was the perfect case for a distraction job. But, uh, news flash: Did you know that the Lost Boys have never done a distraction like the ones we do?"

"Lost Boys?" Tank questioned, rather than comment on the men's lack of experience.

It took me several seconds to realise that while I'd been referring to the Boston men as the Lost Boys, I hadn't shared the name with anyone. "Yeah, it's kinda like the Boston version of the Merry Men nickname. I'm testing it out."

"Why do you need a specific nickname for them?"

"Because," I said, leaning my head against wall. "Saying Boston Merry Men takes too long."

"Good point," he agreed, "But how often do you need to say Boston Merry Men?"

Huh. I thought about that for a minute. Wouldn't you know it? I don't think I'd ever said it before. "That's actually probably the first time I've said it out loud," I confessed. "But-"

"What was the nickname again?" Tank asked, interrupting my attempt to justify myself. "Lost Boys?"

"Yeah."

Tank made a low humming noise. "Focus group says no," he told me.

I scoffed. "What focus group?"

"Me."

* * *

 _ **At this point, my goal is to update again next Sunday. Fingers Crossed it happens...Otherwise my updates may end up being every week and a half...**_


	34. Chapter 34

_It's Saturday evening. I said I would update on Sunday. But knowing what happened last week, I decided to update early when I remembered my intention rather than wait til tomorrow and forget. I just finished reading Akarnae by Lynette Noni today, which I totally recommend. She has won a place in my list of top five authors. I couldn't put it down all week._

 **Chapter 34**

When Hawk arrived at the tech lab that afternoon, I was in the middle of a number of things, and multi-tasking like a queen. In the office I had a search running, but since it was a waiting game for results to start popping up for me to print, I was out in the main room with Harry, practicing identifying the various tools needed for a standard installation, so that next time we go on a job I will be more useful – yesterday all I'd done was watch and hand him the wrong tools – and I was also eating my lunch.

"This looks way better than the last time I was down here," Hawk commented, sauntering into the room, his head swivelling this way and that to take in the rows of clearly labelled drawers, the clutter free work benches, and the rolling tool station (the one impulse buy that I allowed Harry during our trip to Ikea). "I had no idea you had so much bench space."

Speaking of bench space, I was currently sitting cross legged on top of one with all the tools laid out before me, and I was suddenly wondering if it was a good move, workplace health and safety wise, to be up here when my supervisor arrived. Probably not, but he hadn't said anything about it yet, and there was no way he hadn't noticed, the Musketeers (the new nickname I was trialling), just like all good Rangemen, noticed everything. All the time.

"Being able to find everything in an instant is pretty surreal," Harry said, dusting his hands off on his pants and adjusting his red bandana, which apparently _did_ count as a hat by his standards, because it covered his head. Trust me, we had a five minute debate about it and I still wasn't convinced, but it was his quirk and I couldn't very well waltz in and start changing his rules. "It's cut down on search time by, like, seventy percent."

Hawk's gaze snapped over to Harry. "Only seventy?"

"At the moment. Yeah," Harry replied. "I'm still getting used to the system and I keep forgetting which end of the wall of drawers things are on, but once I have it all mapped out in my brain we should be up another ten to fifteen percent."

"Sounds good." Hawk nodded his approval, taking the last few strides to my side. "And what are you doing out here instead of in your office searching stuff?"

"Well," I said, slipping off the table top to stand next to him. "Since I am now also expected to assist on system installations and upgrades, I thought it would be beneficial to actually learn about them. Harry was just testing me on which tool was which, while I ate lunch and waited for a search to run it's course."

More nodding from Hawk. "Productive use of your time," he said. "It's good to see you putting in the extra effort."

I know that he meant it as a compliment – at least I hoped he did – but after a month of subtle digs and my inability to perform to the proper company standard from almost all the other men, I was having a hard time accepting it. The no nonsense, no expression tone that was Hawk's standard left a lot to the imagination, meaning that my imagination was running wild, putting its own inflection on the words and coming up with scathing sarcasm. I had to take a deep breath and clear out my brains version of the words. In our conversation upstairs this morning Hawk had seemed supportive of my endeavours here, so it wasn't likely he meant his comment in a conceited way.

"Thanks," I said, popping the last of my sandwich into my mouth. As I chewed, I gathered the tools into a pile and carried them over to the tool box Harry had grabbed them out of before gesturing to the open office door. "Shall we?"

Hawk agreed with a slight nod of his head to indicate that I should lead the way.

"I spoke to Tank after our meeting this morning," I told him on the way. "About the distraction job and how the guys up here have never done one before. He said that you'd been a part of a couple in your early days down in Miami, but that you wouldn't necessarily know all the ins and outs, and I definitely don't know all the ins and outs, so I set up a meeting with the Core Team down in Trenton to help walk us through what needs to be done. I hope that's okay. I just want us to have the best knowledge base we can going into this, and I thought if you could talk to the guys back home then maybe they could-"

"Steph," he said, cutting me off. "You're rambling."

"Oh," I uttered. "Sorry, I just-."

He cut me off again. "It's fine, but perhaps we could go inside and get started?"

I realised, then, that while I had lead Hawk to my office, I had turned to address him upon reaching the doorway. Quickly remedying that, I skirted around the desk, pulled out my copy of the file I'd put together for Lock and Tree for easy access and sat down, quickly hitting print on all the hits my latest searches had found.

"What time is the meeting with Trenton?" Hawk asked, taking a seat in one of my visitors' chairs and watching my movements closely. There was no judgement in his stares. Of that I was certain. Only curiosity. He was cataloguing how I worked, storing tid bits of information away for future reference, which is what Rangemen do best, regardless of their location, and I wasn't going to hold that against him. He was just doing what he'd been trained to do.

"We didn't nail down a specific time, because I didn't know if you wanted to discuss anything about the case first. But they're all gathered in Tank's office for their monthly progress meeting for the afternoon, and Tank said that we could interrupt whenever we were ready." If Hawk was surprised by this lack of concrete planning, he didn't let it show on his face, not that I would have expected him to, but I knew how particular the men could be, especially the Musketeers. "Is there?"

He dragged the file toward him and flicked through a few pages, pausing to read deeper a couple of times, but not stopping until he'd scanned the whole thing. "What makes you sure this guy is a prime candidate for a distraction?" he finally asked, looking up. He didn't appear to be testing me; there was no hidden agenda behind his words that I could find. Just curiosity. Like he was genuinely interested in my opinion on the matter. And I have to say, it felt good to finally have someone that was willing to take my side up here.

"Well," I began, flipping through a few pages of the file myself now. "He was arrested for Indecent Assault, right? And the victim says he picked her up at a bar called _The Greatest_?" Hawk nodded that my facts were correct. "As part of the conditions of his bail, he was told not to return to _The Greatest_. Understandable. Pretty straight forward. I checked his bank history and there's definitely no transactions from _The Greatest_ on there since he was granted bail, but there _are_ regular withdrawals from the same ATM. Being new in town I couldn't pull a location up in my head for that ATM, so I Googled it and discovered that it is right around the corner from _The Greatest_. Now, I don't know about you, but I hate breaking in a new bar. I like the familiar, where I can sit in the same stool every time I visit and order from the same cast of bartending characters. Going to a new bar is like going to a new school, you have to figure out where you fit in the hierachy, what the specific rules are for the location. It's just a lot of hard work that I'd rather not do."

"Makes sense," he said, examining the pages I was referring to- the skip's transaction history and the map I'd marked the ATM and the bar on. "You think he's been visiting the Greatest?"

I shook my head, unable to help the grin that was creeping onto my face. "I don't _think_ so," I said confidently, shuffling through a few papers that I'd printed out this morning after our meeting with Hugh until I found the right ones. "I _know_ so." Handing him the papers, I sat back in my chair, arms crossed over my chest, satisfied with my work on this case.

"These are security stills of the skip entering the bar," Hawk stated the obvious, cross referencing the stills with the photo attached to the front of the file before pulling them closer to his face. "These time stamps," he muttered.

"Three times a week for the last three weeks," I summarised for him. "Always the same days, always the same times. He is nothing if not predictable."

Hawk lifted his gaze to mine, his blank mask having slipped away to reveal the genuine surprise underneath. "How did you get these?" he asked. "Did you hack the security feeds? No one mentioned you had those kinds of skills. Not to mention the fact that it's illegal."

"Relax," I laughed. "I definitely do not have those kinds of skills. I'm good at searches. Just because the searches are on the computer does not mean I'm good at computers. I called Hector down in Trenton, explained what I needed and he got me the stills. He assures me it was through completely legitimate channels."

"Hector?" Hawk question. "The ex gang member with the tear drop tattoos? You trust him to be legit?"

"Hector is more than his past," I pointed out. "He left the gang life behind for a reason, and he's been a huge asset on the Rangeman team. He's my friend, and he would never do anything to get Rangeman in trouble with the law."

Hawk had a sceptical expression peeking through his carefully guarded features. He clearly didn't believe me. "I'm not hearing that you asked many questions about this legitimate channel through which Hector procured these stills," Hawk said flatly. "How can you be sure?"

"I trust Hector with my life. He wouldn't put something illegal in my hands."

He still didn't seem convinced, but didn't question Hector's methods any more. Probably, he picked up on my frustration and didn't want to risk me complaining about him to Tank. It was a very common response to anything that they thought even slightly upset me up here. I'd even had a few of the guys request that I not mention certain things said or actions taken to Tank. They were all aware that Tank and I were close friends, and that he acted as Ranger's eyes and ears when the big boss was out of town. No wanted to be on the wrong side of Tank, but they wanted to be on the wrong side of Ranger even less.

"Shall we call Tank?" Hawk suggested, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, a sign of tension. Unfortunately, I was all too aware that it was a common symptom of being in my presence. The amount of times Morelli had claimed I was giving him a headache, or an ulcer was astounding. My mother routinely had to massage her temples when hearing about my latest exploits. I'd even had similar effects on Tank and Ranger in the past, especially in the days before Tank had really gotten to know me and relaxed his guard a little. He was never big on talking, still wasn't, and apparently talk was all I did in those early days. Don't get me wrong, I still have a tendency to talk a lot now, but I also knew when it was time to shut up and pay attention.

Nodding, I pulled up Skype on my laptop and initiated a video call, adjusting my position so that Hawk and I were both in the frame. Almost immediately, we were subjected to the sound of three grown and burly men arguing over personal space as they attempted to all fit on the screen. Finally, Tank pushed both Bobby and Lester away from him, and leaned toward the camera. He must have pushed the computer further away, because when he leaned back there was a safe distance between the men and they were all in view.

"Hey guys," I finally greeted.

"Hey Steph," Tank said at the same time Bobby greeted, "Hey Bomber," and Lester asked, "What's up, Beautiful?"

"Not much," I replied easily. "Just trying to school Hawk on distraction methods. I figured it'd be easier if I just got you guys to explain it, though, since my main job is to use my femininity to convince the scum to walk out the door. You all have much better detail in the ins and outs of the situation."

"Happy to be of assistance," Bobby said.

The men spent the next hour talking through every aspect of a typical distraction take down, from briefing the men and communicating with the owner of the establishment, to positioning around the club, and ensuring that I make it out without damage. It was a little awkward to listen to the guys talk about the specific protocols that were in place to ensure I came out the other side unscathed either physically or mentally. The only way I managed to not blush was to remind myself that it would be the same rules for any woman they put in that kind of situation. In fact they should have similar checks for anyone who was put in a high stress, high risk situation. I scribbled a quick note in the corner of my page to ask about that at a later time, right now I had to be sure that Hawk was on board with everything the men were saying.

The Musketeers needed this experience. They needed new methods like a drowning man needs air. They were limited in the ways they could capture their targets, and it showed negatively in the success rate. By varying the method, going with less aggressive means where possible, they saved their strength and energy for when it was truly needed. And while undergoing a covert operation such as this took a little more effort than two guys kicking down a door and dragging a guy out, but the skills they learn in a distraction can be easily transferred to other aspects of their job.

Not to mention Rangeman would gather more respect from the public by being discreet in their actions.

"Do you have any questions?" Tank asked when they'd finally covered everything we needed to know in order to pull it off. It was all a little overwhelming, to be honest. I didn't realise just how much work they did behind the scenes on a job like this. All I did was peruse a file, half listen to a briefing, slut it up, and lure out a man. I could only imagine how Hawk was feeling about this.

A glance over showed that he wasn't feeling _great_ about it. He had a hand clasped over his own mouth and was flicking his pages of notes back and forth, eyes darting all over the place as his brow continued to furrow. If he kept it up his eyes were going to disappear under the wrinkle in his forehead. My shoulders sank. He wasn't going to be able to pull this off with a team that had never done a job like this before.

"Hawk?" I called tentatively when he didn't reply.

His head snapped up. "Mmm?"

"How are you going with processing all this?" I asked, gesturing to the scribbles he'd jotted down over the last hour.

"Oh, swimmingly," he assured me.

I could have sworn there was a hint of sarcasm in his tone. I needed to do something to make this easier for him. I had to ensure there was a good outcome. I met Tank's eyes through the screen, thinking quickly, trying to come up with a sure fire way to make this work out the way it was supposed to. Tank, Bobby and Lester were all silent, staring straight at us. I couldn't tell whether they were watching me or Hawk or both, but as I continued to mull over the problem, running simulations in my head with as many different men from Boston as I could to determine who would be best for the team, I kept substituting the usual Trenton team in their places.

I was about to give up, figuring it was my brains way of telling me I didn't trust the Musketeers enough yet, when Tank raised an subtle and tilted his head ever so slightly toward Lester. I'm not even sure it was a conscious action, but it triggered the thought that lead to the obvious solution.

"Would it be possible to get a loan on a couple of the guys from Trenton to help us work through this?" I asked Tank. My words earned a sharp head turn from Hawk, which I chose to ignore, and a couple of exchanged glances on the Trenton side of the screen. "If we have experienced guys on the job, it'll help the Boston guys to learn and succeed." I paused, unsure if I should add that it would also make me feel more comfortable. On the one hand, it's the kind of thing I would easily confess to Tank, Lester or Bobby, but on the other Hawk was also here and I didn't want him thinking I doubted his men's abilities.

"How many men did you have in mind?" Tank asked.

"It's an eight man minimum operation, so how about four?" I suggested. "That gives us one at the front entrance, one out back, one for the bar, and one for tech support. We could add a Boston man to each door, a couple milling inside, and one on tech?"

"I'll run point," Lester announced without even consulting his partners for their opinion first. "I'll take Hank for tech, Bones is our best bartender and he blends in easily, that just leaves someone for the other exit." Now he _did_ glance to Tank and Bobby. "How about Hal?"

"Solid line up," Tank agreed easily.

"Don't forget to have Stitch on hand just in case," Bobby reminded. "Not that I think anything will happen, but if I'm staying behind in Trenton I want to be sure you're taken care of."

"I'll go let the guys know we're going on a field trip," Lester said disappearing from the screen.

"Thanks guys," I said. "This should really help."

"Hugh isn't going to like this," Hawk said matter-of-factly. I cut my eyes to him, noting that he looked a lot more relaxed now that we'd secured experienced men for support.

Tank seemed to agree to his sentiments. "He doesn't like it when we step on his toes."

"This is for the best," I reminded them. "I'm up here to help get them up to speed, and if that means enlisting some help for mentoring, then so be it. If he doesn't like it, he can get over it."

Bobby was grinning. "I take you haven't managed to wrap Hugh around your pinkie yet," he guessed teasingly.

"You could say that," I confirmed. "We don't really see eye to eye."

* * *

 _ **Until next week, stay weird.**_


	35. Chapter 35

_I almost forgot! But I didn't! It's 8.45pm and I was just thinking of going to bed to read (Raelia by Lynette Noni, book 2 of the Medoran Chronicles) when I remembered that I'm supposed to post a new chapter this weekend._

 **Chapter 35**

"Again," Mungo commanded as soon as I'd dropped my hands. I hadn't even had the opportunity to swallow a decent breath and he wanted me to be back at it. He's said I could take a second to rest. Apparently he meant that literally. Dancing from foot to foot in front of me, he made a hurry up gesture, his thick eyebrows goading me on. I'd thought that with time my sessions with Mungo would get easier. It seemed logical. The more endurance and fitness I gained, the better I would be able to handle what he had to throw at me, right? Wrong. No matter what I did, facing Mungo in the gym just kept getting harder. I was starting to doubt that the sessions were even worth it.

"Can I get a moment to catch my breath?" I requested, tossing my head to shift the curls that had escaped my ponytail out of my face. "You told me to take a breather. How am I supposed to do that when you immediately tell me to go again?"

"You had a moment to catch your breath," Mungo pointed out, raising his hands and lowering his stance. "You didn't use it very wisely. You filled it with complaining. In the real world you don't get a breather. Take a breather and your skip gets away. Now let's go again."

With a sigh, I adjusted my body to mirror his stance and started taking the cues he'd taught me in order to react in the appropriate way, ducking, dodging, jabbing, and kicking out to avoid a swing or take advantage of an opening. We'd been working on my hand to hand combat skills every day since I'd arrived. He was of the opinion that being able to hold my own in a fist fight was an essential tool for my belt.

That and giving chase. I'd spent a considerable amount of time pounding the treadmill in the last four weeks. There, I could definitely see an improvement. It helped that I could see the numbers increasing on the little display in front of me every time Mungo upped the speed, or time, or incline. I could run faster for longer, and while it still wasn't anywhere near where most of the guys were, I was proud of myself for not dying, or flying off the back of the belt every time Mungo set a new speed or a longer time.

I was feeling pretty good about this particular round of sparring. I'd managed to avoid the worst of his blows. Nothing had landed solidly, and I'd made contact a few times myself. Without hurting myself, even. He lunged at me, trying for a grab, but I ducked and rolled away, popping back up with enough time to register the perfect opening for a kick before my leg lashed out. Just like that. From realisation to action in less than a second. I was so pleased with myself, that it took me another millisecond to remember to follow through with my actions, by which time it was already too late. Mungo had already grabbed hold of my leg, pulling me off balance. Before I fully understood what was happening, I was on my back on the mats. A very familiar position for me to be in. I feel like I spend a good third of my gym sessions regaining my breath after being slammed to the floor.

"Ohhhh!" a chorus of male voices called as I made impact this time around. "Damn, that was epic."

"I really thought she was gonna pull one over on him!"

"Since when does Bomber have these kinds of skills?"

"I thought I was scared of her knee before, but with those kinds of moves, I think I'm gonna have to start being afraid of her entire body."

Unable to get up just yet, rolled my head to the side enough to catch sight of a handful of Merry Men lounging on the bench at the edge of the matted area, grinning and nudging each other as they commented further on my efforts. I hadn't realised they were there. Hadn't even realised they were in Boston yet. I'd thought they would be arriving tonight after tying up a couple of loose ends in Trenton so that everyone was covered while they were away.

Apparently not.

As I watched them, slowly refilling my lungs with oxygen, Mungo's shadow settled over me, dragging my attention back to him. He offered me a hand up – a rarity – and I took it without hesitation. "How long have they been watching?" I asked quietly as he set me back on my feet.

"Long enough," he replied with a shrug. "You did good today."

"I still lost," I pointed out, shaking my head and earning a sweaty curl to the eye. "You still threw me to the ground."

Mungo raised an eyebrow at me. "Not everything in life is about winning and losing. Just because you're thrown to the ground doesn't mean you've lost. You just have to get up again and come back at me stronger than before."

"What do you think I've been trying to do?"

"Just enough to prove you're capable but not enough to actually succeed," Mungo said matter-of-factly, with a look in his eyes that clearly told me that he thought I was capable of more than I was giving him. "Next session I want you to figure out how to toss _me_ to the ground for a change."

"We're done for the day?" I asked, glancing at the clock on the wall. Ordinarily we'd have another twenty minutes during which he would torture me some more, maybe lock me in a hold and tell me to get out of it.

"You've got visitors," he reminded me with a slight head nod toward the Trenton guys. "If we continue now, you'll be distracted by their presence. God knows Lester doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut and let people concentrate. So we're ending early today. We'll make it up tomorrow."

"Thanks," I said. "For everything so far. You've been tough, but you've also been understanding and supportive. And I've needed that."

Mungo gave me a look that I couldn't quite interpret. He didn't often throw actual expressions my way, so I didn't have that much experience with his face in different positions. If I had to take a stab in the dark, I would say he was someone exasperated with my statements. "It's my job to make sure you're ready to do your job," he pointed out, his tone matching the state of mind I'd predicted. "If I was to just yell at you and set impossible goals that I knew you could never reach, we would both be failing. And no one likes to fail."

"Why are we talking about failing?" Lester asked, appearing at my side with absolutely no warning. I managed to control my reaction and not scream or fall to the ground for once. "I don't think you're failing here. That was amazing. I've never seen you move like that. Beautiful, you're like a legit fighter now."

For once, I was grateful for the way my face turned red the moment I exerted any kind of physical energy, because it meant that neither of the guys could see me blushing right now. You would think that by this point in my life I would be more comfortable receiving compliments, but I wasn't. I had no idea what to do with words like this. I was used to being berated and scolded of my choices, and didn't often have achievements worthy of celebration. Any compliments I did receive were usually to do with my looks, and usually heard exclusively when I had slutted myself up for a night. Wolf whistles, and wowzers. They didn't hit the soul anywhere near as wholly as being told that I had actually made progress with the efforts I had made. I was being recognised for improving myself, and that gave me a bigger confidence boost than even my trust mascara ever could.

While I was distracted by trying not be feel awkward from the praises, Mungo made excuses to leave, and Lester had thrown an arm around my shoulders, leading me over to the rest of the Merry Men who were all still exclaiming over what they had witnessed of my training session.

"Boston is good for you," Bones said, nodding to reaffirm his statement. Hal and Hank clearly agreed, because they started giving me a play by play of the sparring session, using proper names for moves that I had apparently done, but I had no idea what they were talking about. Mungo didn't throw words like that around. He just showed me what to do and I practiced until I could do it.

I tried to stop them, to quiet their words and push away their praises, but they were too excited to listen to my 'modesty'. Lester pulled me tighter to his side, pressing a few damp locks of hair into my neck and reminding me that I was really sweaty and probably stank.

"I need a shower," I announced, pulling away from him. "I don't know how you're standing my stench right now."

Lester shrugged. "You still smell better than Hal's breath."

"Hey!" Hal protested.

"You were breathing over my shoulder the entire flight here and all I could smell was dog food," Lester pointed out.

"I have a condition!"

I shook my head. The guys hadn't changed one bit in the month I'd been away from them. The bickering, if anything, worse than normal. Maybe I shouldn't have left them without appropriate supervision. Tank just didn't have the time to keep an eye on them and mediate their petty squabbles.

"So when did you guys arrive?" I asked in an attempt to divert their attention away from their quarrel. "How long are you here?"

Bones, the only man still seated on the bench, handed me a bottle of water. "We're been here about twenty minutes," he explained. "Haven't even received our bunk allocations yet. We pulled into a car space, interrogated the first guy we saw until they gave us your current whereabouts, hijacked the elevator and caught the tail end of some pretty decent training.

A trickle of sweat slid down my temple as I took a swig from the bottle, reminding me (like I needed it that I was still gross and in desperate need of a shower. I grabbed my gym towel from the bench beside Bones, swiped it over my face to remove as much moisture as possible and draped it around my neck for safe keeping, and to collect the sweat accumulating there as well. "Well, you should probably go find Hugh or Hawk to check in and figure out your sleeping arrangements," I said. "I recommend Hawk, because Hugh did not take the news that we'd invited you up here very well. Also, fair warning, I'm pretty sure I took the last apartment, so you'll probably be relegated to couch surfing if you don't want to go to a hotel."

"I've slept on worse," Hank shrugged.

"A lot worse," Hal agreed.

"Cool," I said, brushing a curl out of my face and cringing at how saturated it was. "I'm going to run to my apartment for a shower. I'll be in my office in half an hour if you need me."

Lester cocked his head. "Half an hour? You can get that done in half an hour?"

He was joking, I was sure. Well, sort of sure. I _was_ known for taking my time with the bathroom in the past. Thing was, though, knowing that there was no one here that I was trying to impress with my feminine whiles, and that if I left the building for any reason I would need to wash my face upon returning, I'd taken to wearing less make up. A hint of eye shadow, a swipe of mascara, a dab of lip gloss and, if my complexion was particularly bad, maybe a light foundation. But there was no point in doing any more than that. I didn't leave the building for work most days, and if I was heading to Suzan's Diner for dinner I had enough time, what with living two floors up, to fix my make up if I felt the need. All the guys here had been subjected to my freshly scrubbed face enough that it didn't matter what I did or didn't do to it on a regular basis.

"I'll have you know that I've gotten quite efficient in my post-gym routine," I huffed.

"Shame."

*o*

My new office had felt perfectly sized when it was just me, and the office equipment – desk, computer, printer – but when you cram in four overly enthusiastic, broad shouldered, muscled men, it began to get a little cramped. Okay, let's be honest, it was a lot cramped. Standing room only. And even that was a push. The tiny room was so crowded that I had been forced to sit _on_ my desk in order to allow the guys to do their snooping without standing on me. When Hank pointed out something interesting about the printer, and everyone pressed in behind him, I took the opportunity to slip back out of the space and into the lab.

Harry was working on something on his laptop, typing quickly, his eyes darting across the screen and occasionally flicking to the file and page of notes laid out beside his elbow. His shoulders were hunched and a frown was playing across his brow, creasing what was visible of his usually smooth forehead under the baseball cap he'd donned backwards. Not wanting to disturb him – it was probably bad enough that he now had men traipsing through the lab on their way to and from my office several times a day – I rounded the bench and slid onto the stool beside him.

"Are they always like this?" he asked without looking up from his work. He didn't sound annoyed. Just curious. I couldn't blame him. The Musketeers wouldn't dare to act this way while on shift. Even in their down time they tended to be a little more straight laced than the Merry Men.

"Pretty much," I admitted, leaning my elbow on the counter and resting my chin in my hand. "They tend to get a little overzealous." My new position allowed me to see Harry's screen better, and I was a little surprised to find that he was entering in a search request. I don't know why, but for some reason, I just didn't see Harry as the type of guy that was involved in the skip tracing side of Rangeman. Whenever I pictured him, he was in the lab. "Tick that box," I instructed, watching his curser waver over the list of refining categories. "And never leave this section blank. You'd be surprised how much is missed when you skip a single search term."

He _did_ look at me then. The expression of concentration he'd had while tapping away at the keyboard frozen on his face. For several seconds he just stared at me, before returning to the task with a muttered, "Thanks."

"No problem," I shrugged. "Just doing my job. Literally."

While Harry succeeded in setting his search to going, I perused the open page of the file, just for something to do, making mental notes of what information I would usually include in a search and what I would discount. I was just wondering why it was that I chose to ignore certain facts on the page, when there was a clatter from within the office. I nearly tossed the file aside, though I didn't recall picking it up.

"This is why we can't have nice things," Hal said loudly.

"I think you'll find it's why Bomber can't have nice things," Bones pointed out.

"Everything okay in there?" I called, peering at the door. I trusted the men, otherwise I wouldn't have left them in there alone, knowing that my treat stash was not as well hidden as it probably should be.

"Nothing's broken," Lester assured me, sticking his head out. "I just tripped on a chair leg and knocked your pen holder off the desk." He paused, narrowing his eyes at me. "You've got a peg hanging off your shirt."

"They're like a herd of overly affectionate puppies around you," Harry said quietly as Lester disappeared once more, and I located the peg attached to me shirt, plucking off and setting on the bench in front of me. I have no idea how it made it on there, I don't even have any pegs in my apartment. "It's a wonder anyone can get any work done down in Trenton."

"Remarkably, they manage to find a healthy balance," I said. "They know when it's time to knuckle down and be serious, but they've also found that being looser with each other allows for less tension in the work place."

"Huh."

"I don't know why," I added. "It just works."

"It's probably you," Harry pointed out.

I had no idea how to take that. I had no doubt that the dynamic in the Trenton office was probably due, at least in part, to my presence and Ranger's reaction to said presence. He had a soft spot for me, no doubt about it, and he'd let it be known to all the men. The fact that he'd never before allowed them any kind of hint at his more human side meant that they quickly accepted me as one of their own. Ranger had commanded loyalty and respect, and those who had served with him shared a special bond, but from what I could tell, prior to my stepping – or should I say, 'stumbling' – onto the scene, there was no brotherhood like there was now. There were friends and buddies, and they were all dedicated to the work they were doing at Rangeman, but they weren't the family they are today.

The Musketeers definitely already had the community spirit going on with all their organised leisure activities, and they knew how to relax a little when outside of work, but while inside the building it was all, "Yes, sir. No, sir. Three bags full, sir." Not a smile cracked, not a toe out of line.

I thought of Hugh and the odd mixture of intimidation and resignation that he chose to lead with and couldn't help but think that it was probably the root of the problem. Things here were so strict that it left no room for error, no opportunity for innovation. No wonder I'd been met with so much resistance from the guys.

I had to figure out a way to get the Musketeers to relax into their work. They had dangerous jobs that put their lives on the line every day, yes, but that didn't mean you couldn't have the occasional laugh. Some of the Merry Men's best takedown strategies have been born off the back of joking comments made in passing. Like the time Vince and Demon had lured a skip out of their house with a full roast pig. Hopefully, this distraction would be the first step in the journey to getting these guys thinking outside the box.

* * *

 _ **PS Pretty sure NaNoWriMo won't actually be happening for me this month. The muse is hiding (probably locked herself in a dark dungeon), I'm too far down the rabbit hole on this book series to focus on writing, and I'm actually INSANELY busy this month. It makes me sad, because I love NaNo, but I'm won't be participating like I was planning.**_


	36. Chapter 36

_Another weekend, another chapter. I've been at a pop culture/comic convention this weekend. Today my bestie and I dressed up as Sadness and Disgust from Disney Pixar's Inside Out. Including painting ourselves. You can check us out on instagram at I.C. Ananas_

 **Chapter 36**

"So, once Steph successfully leads the target out through one of the exits, it's up to the men stationed there to work quickly to secure him without alerting him to their presence before the cuffs are on his wrists," Lester explained.

We'd been sitting in the main conference room for an hour now while Lester and the guys went over every detail of a typical distraction job with a select group of Musketeers, including things to keep an eye out for, drinks I'm likely to order and how to make them virgin, effective bar patron cover, and discreet communications. We'd been over scenarios from previous distractions we'd done in Trenton and how they were handled, potential obstacles that would have to be overcome, and now Lester was moving on to the endgame.

This was the part that made me nervous. The Merry Men were tuned in to the way I worked, and had been around me in the field as well as just generally in life to be familiar with my methods and which way my instincts were likely to take me. And vice versa, to a certain degree. I didn't have that shared history with the Musketeers, and while the two groups working in tandem for this particular job eased my mind a little, there was still the uncertainty of how the Musketeers would react in any given situation.

I'd been trying to put my worries out of my mind, focusing on the details the Lester was giving, and reconciling them with my base knowledge of how distractions worked. This was informative for me as well as the Musketeers.

"Often," Lester continued. "In order to encourage the target to leave the venue with her, Steph will need to engage in physical contact: allowing an arm around her waist and the like. Steph will extract herself as quickly and seamlessly as she can as soon as they step outside, but keep in mind that this is the moment of most risk in the entire operation. Skips like this are usually highly reactive to sudden movements, and we tend to have two lots happening at once." He laid down the pen he'd been fiddling with as he spoke – an action that helped him focus – and leaned both hands on the table so he could eyeball the men sitting around it. He'd been so serious and authoritative throughout the entire meeting that I was wondering if Tank had actually sent me a life model decoy instead of the real Lester. He hadn't cracked a single joke since we entered the conference room. "If Steph is too abrupt, or the door guards are a second too early, or too late, we have a hostage situation on our hands."

A tense silence filled the room so completely that my muscles began to stiffen. I was gripping the arms of my chair so hard that my fingers were beginning to cramp. I was already acutely aware of this part of the job. I'd experienced it enough times that I was confident that with the right support I could get out of it unscathed, but I was still settling in with the Musketeers. If things went south, I didn't know their minds and methods well enough to be confident our partnership.

"How we navigate that situation if it arises, depends on a number of things," Lester said, the knowledgeable air of a school teacher about him. "Steph is very good at assessing the situation and getting out of the hold in the nick of time. She will attempt to broadcast her plan so that we can take action at the same time, but it does require thinking on your feet and knowing not only how you're most likely to react, but also how your partner is going to react."

"It's important to remember," Hank added, siting up a little straighter in his chair. "That although the main objective is to recapture the skip, ensuring the safety of all Rangeman parties involved is the top priority. If it comes down to a decision between protecting one of your own, and capturing the skip, you always protect your own."

Lester allowed a moment for Hank's statement to sink in before continuing with his blow by blow. "With the skip secured, two to three of the team haul ass to the station to get him processed, while the remaining members thank the owner of the establishment for their cooperation, and ensure that Steph is alright. This includes, but is not limited to checking for injuries, allowing an emotional debrief, and providing refined sugars in the form of donuts."

"Refined sugars?" Stitch questioned, eyeing Lester doubtfully. "You're suggesting we make it a priority to make a stop at a bakery?"

"Everyone deals with stress in different ways," Harry pointed out defensively, planting his elbows on the table on either side of the notebook where he'd been taking copious amounts of notes throughout the meeting. "Refined sugars may be frowned upon, but if it is what Steph needs to come down from a high stress situation, we shouldn't judge her for that."

"Reliance on food to calm down isn't healthy," Hawk countered.

Hal, leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with an eye roll. "Steph, when you were in Trenton how often would you eat donuts and tasty cakes?" he asked.

I didn't know where he was going with this; how it could possibly help my case, but I answered anyway. "A daily basis," I confessed. "They made up about a third of my diet."

He nodded knowingly. "And how often have you eaten donuts and the like since arriving in Boston?" he questioned.

"I haven't had a single donut," I said, realising the truth as the words came out of my mouth.

"TastyKakes?"

"None," I confirmed. "They're not allowed in the building and I hardly ever leave it, so there's not a lot of opportunity for them."

"Have you consumed _any_ baked treats since coming to Boston," Lester asked, and I got the impression that he was asking more out of curiosity than to help prove whatever point Hal was trying to make.

"I've had a few homemade brownies," I said, thinking hard about what I'd eaten up here. "And I occasionally have a slice of cake when I go to Uncle Suzan's. And…" I tried to think of anything else, but the only thing that stuck out in my mind was the time Harry had taken me to his pace for a peanut butter sandwich. "Nope, that's it."

The Merry Men were all staring at me aghast. I hadn't seen them all this shocked simultaneously since the time I'd announced that I was quitting the bounty hunting business. They'd thought me insane for giving up something I could excel at, but I was sick of being in life and death situations on a weekly basis and thought what I needed was some monotony. Turns out it was not only _not_ what I needed, but also impossible for me to achieve. No matter which 'normal' job I tried, I'd ended up with explosions and crazy people assaulting me at every turn. I'd abandoned the endeavour after only two weeks.

"Seriously?" Hank asked.

"Seriously."

"Wow," Bones uttered. "That's amazing."

Hal cleared his throat, forcefully schooling his expression back into some semblance of a blank expression. "As I was saying," he uttered, drawing all attention back to him. "Steph used to live on sugars. She's clearly cut down on that significantly, but that doesn't mean that she won't need it after a high stress situation like this. In fact, it's likely that she'll need it more, because she doesn't have that store of sugar already there to fall back on."

As we were all processing that information – me included – Hawk stood and had a brief, whispered discussion with Lester, a serious expression on both their faces. He turned to face the rest of the table, meeting each of our gazes before speaking. "I think we've covered everything on the theoretical side of things," he said. "We'll break for the evening, but I want to see everyone in the gym at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow to run some scenarios in preparation."

The men wasted no time in clearing out of the room, the Musketeers in particular. Hal, Hank and Bones tossed a quick ' _see ya later'_ over their shoulders as they sauntered out at the tail end of the group, and so I was left with Lester.

He grinned at me. "That went pretty well, don't you think?"

"You were very serious," I acknowledged. "And they seemed mostly receptive to the ideas you were suggesting."

"They weren't suggestions, Beautiful," he said, slinging an arm over my shoulder. "I was laying down the law. And being serious is the only way to connect with this hard asses. If you show even a hint of humour, they'll pounce on it like a weakness."

"That's not all they'll pounce on," I agreed. "What do you think of the Boston side of the team?"

Lester was quiet for a few moments as he led me out the door and down the hall to the elevator. Pressing the call button, he looked down at me and frowned, angling his body a bit so he could reach over to pull something off my shirt. Holding out his had in front of us, we both stared down at the peg. The second of which he'd found on my shirt in the four hours since he'd arrived. Shaking his head, as if to clear it of errant thoughts, he tucked the item in his pocket and finally answered my question. "They seem to be the least likely to cause major waves in an operation like this," he explained. "None of them really kicked up a stink about the donuts."

I narrowed my eyes. "You included that just to test them, didn't you?"

"I gotta make sure that you're being protected properly," Lester shrugged. "You've been up here a month, and they still haven't really cracked under the weight of your charm. I had to make sure that the men we're taking on this operation will do whatever it takes to make sure you're okay, even if it means stuffing sugary carbs down your throat."

Cringing at his phrasing, I countered, "I think I'd prefer if they _didn't_ shove anything down my throat."

This caused the wide, mischievous grin that was Lester's trademark to spread across his face like wildfire. I was regretting my words even as the twinkle in his eye let me know how far in the gutter his mind was. "That's a real shame," Lester said, using his arm still on my shoulder to lead me back out of the elevator on the fourth floor. "Perhaps you could allow me to change your mind on the matter."

"Maybe I should call Bobby and get his opinion on the matter," I refuted.

"Bobby loves when I shove things in his mouth," Lester said easily, deliberately misunderstanding my statement. I meant that Bobby wouldn't be happy if he started shoving his _things_ down my throat, because they're a couple. Not that Bobby would disapprove of things being shoved down throats in general.

"You know what I meant," I grumbled, stopping at my door and pulling out my key fob.

Lester still didn't drop his arm, nor did he wipe the grin off his face. "I know," he agreed. "But I like to see you blush." He pushed the door open for me, revealing the small entrance way to the apartment, and a familiar army issued duffel bag on the floor right where I usually kicked my shoes off. "By the way," he said. "This is my room allocation. No one was willing to put up with me, so I suggested I just crash on your couch. I hope you don't mind."

I shook my head, stepping over the bag and into the apartment. "I can't imagine why anyone wouldn't want your annoying ass in their private space for a few days," I said sarcastically.

"I'll have you know my ass is amazing," Lester said, following me in and dragging his duffel further away from the door, dumping it next to the coffee table where it was mostly out of the way.

Taking a moment to scrutinise said ass as he bent to untie the laces on his boots, I had to agree. "It is," I said.

"Hey!" Lester exclaimed, standing abruptly with his hands on his hips, a look of pure indignation about him. "I'm taken, missy. I have a boyfriend back home. You can't seduce me."

"I _wasn't_ ," I said firmly. Of course I wasn't. I knew how serious Lester and Bobby's relationship was getting. I wouldn't dare come between them. Not just because it would be weird to have that kind of relationship with one of my best friends, or because of how much damage it would do to our friendship. The thought of being with Lester made my chest tighten uncomfortably. "Lester, I would never do that to you. I promise. I wouldn't do it. I'm not a slut. I don't want you thinking that I would just- that I would-" I was starting to hyperventilate.

"Woah," Lester said, dropping his stance and closing the distance between us in three strides. He wrapped his hands securely around each of my shoulders, trying to get me to meet his eyes. "Slow down, Beautiful. Take a deep breath. I was only joking. I knew that you were just reciprocating my banter. It's okay. I know that you would never do anything to harm our friendship. Please don't cry."

But it was already too late. Big, fat, salty tears were sliding down my cheeks in waves. "I'm sorry," I sniffed, reaching up to swipe at the moisture on my face and dislodging one of his hands in the process. "I didn't mean- I just – I don't."

"Steph, it's fine," Les informed me. "I'm not worried." He paused. "Well, no. I am worried. But not about you coming on to me. I'm worried about you. Where is this coming from? We've joked around like this before and you've never reacted like this."

"I-," I stammered. "I don't know." But even as I said it, Joe's words from the food court were running through my head, loud and clear as if he were yelling them in my face. _No one has that many men trailing behind her without offering them a little taste of the honey pot from time to time._ I shook my head, trying to dislodge the words, but it only gave way to more. _You're a slut and everyone knows it._ "I'm going for a shower," I muttered, hurrying from the room.

* * *

 _ **Tense times ahead. Brace yourselves.**_


	37. Chapter 37

_It is bedtime, and I suddenly remembered (for the third time this evening) that I need to post a chapter. Let me give you a tension warning, in case you missed it last chapter._

 **Chapter 37**

"That was good," Lester said enthusiastically, offering me a hand to help me up from the ground after what must have been the one thousandth run of our take down strategy this morning. We'd been in the gym for _hours_ drilling various parts of the operation with the team Hawk had put together, but the main focus had been the moment I step over the threshold and out of the establishment with the skip.

Bones had been playing the role of the skip in our little dramatizations, pulling all the common moves a skip would pull when the guys come into view and my cover is blown. I'd been seized in various holds, including some pretty brutal hair pulling, which the team and I had had to manage to get out of without giving away our plan to Bones. We'd had to redo many of the holds several times. First so that Lester, Hank and Hal could explain to the Musketeers how they knew what my plan was, what I'd done to communicate with them. And then again at Mungo's insistence so that I could learn some more effective techniques of escaping the holds.

Lester had noted about an hour ago that my techniques were already much improved from the last time a distraction had gone haywire, but Mungo was determined that I learn the proper ways. The man was all about learning and improving yourself. He wasn't going to be happy until I was capable of escaping by my own merits. After the first few holds, he'd made it abundantly clear that we would be focusing on this for our next few gym sessions. He'd used words like "vulnerable" and "liability", which made me feel about three inches tall, but at the same time, I could see where he was coming from. I needed to work on these things not just for the team, but for myself. I wouldn't always have the Merry Men or the Musketeers there to safe my ass when I got into hot water.

"Do it again," Mungo instructed once I'd managed to dust myself off and push half my pony tail out of my face. I didn't even think about refusing, or complaining. I'd learned the hard way during our first session four weeks ago that complaining just made things, well, harder. Shaking out my limbs a bit, I went and stood next to Bones in my standard, ' _lets go back to your place,'_ position. I was just lifting my hand to tuck it around Bones's waist when Lester spoke up.

"Seriously?" he asked. "She did fine."

"She hesitated," Mungo corrected. "She needs to do better."

"She barely hesitated a second that time. She's on fire today!"

"Bones is holding back, Stephanie's work is inconsistent and you're being too soft," Mungo snapped. "No wonder she's gone this long in the business without being able to properly defend herself."

The back of Lester's neck was turning a deep crimson, one of the only outward signs, along with his clenched fists, that he was fuming. And ordinarily, I'd be doing my tea kettle routine right along side him, but I saw Mungo's point. They'd coddled me. I was more of a pet than a colleague. If I couldn't even get myself out of these basic holds I really was more of a liability. With the amount of times I'd been manhandled on the job, I should have had training years ago and be a pro at this already. We wouldn't need to spend the entire Sunday going over all of this.

"She can defend herself just fine!" Lester exclaimed, losing his falsely calm demeanour.

Mungo was also done pretending. His arms were crossed over his wide chest, making the muscles bulge out ominously. I'd like to think that these kinds of displays didn't intimidate Lester; that he had seen his fair share of large, imposing men in his time and was simply not afraid of them. I could not, however, say the same for myself. Mungo may be a hard ass in the gym, but it was necessary, and when it came down to it, he really did care about my wellbeing and the wellbeing of everyone else in this company. "Fine isn't good enough," he seethed, taking step forward. "Fine is the whole second it takes her to remember what she needs to do next. Fine is the opportunity she is giving any opponent to cause her grievous bodily harm because she's taking too long to take action. Fine is taking the _wrong_ action because she's not familiar enough with the techniques and when they should and should not be applied and ending up in hospital. Fine is-"

While Mungo continued listing all the ways fine was not the desired level of competence, I took a moment to glance around the rest of the group. Hank and Harry were over on the bench, revising some tech stuff on their tablets, but their attention was turned toward the scene going down on the mats. Hal had been discussing warning signs and other subtle cues I could potentially send off if things were going wrong and I was unable to communicate it verbally with a few men off to one side. They, too, were distracted from their task by the commotion between Lester and Mungo. Hawk and Stitch both stood at the edge of the mats, hands behind their backs and expression impassive. And Bones? Well Bones was looking about as uncomfortable as I felt.

"She's come out of dozens of distractions completely unscathed," Lester was saying now, his hands flying about, a clear sign that his emotions were actually getting the best of him for a change. "Steph has been the key to so many of our distractions going off without a hitch that we're just wasting our time here. We're probably not even going to need this stuff."

"But we might," Mungo countered. "How many distraction jobs has Steph been involved in that _have_ gone wrong? How many times has she gotten hurt on one of these operations? It probably could have all been prevented if someone had taken the time to make sure she knew how to get out of these sticky situations properly."

"Steph doesn't need training to get out of sticky situations!" Lester cried. "She has her Spidey Senses! She has gut instinct! She-"

Speaking of my gut, it was starting to tie itself in knots thanks to this argument. I knew that Lester was just trying to stick up for me. To defend me. But I also knew that Mungo was right. I needed this training eventually. Now was convenient, not only because we were already working on them, but because sometime in the next few days I would be putting myself out there in the line of fire again, and my eyes had been opened up to how much I actually don't know about defending myself.

It was impossible for me to pick a side. They were both looking out for my welfare, just in different ways. And for different reasons. Lester was my friend. On the one hand, I know that he would never want for me to get hurt, and he also didn't like it when people tried to boss me around, because he knew how I felt about people taking away my freedom. But on the other hand, Mungo was just doing his job, making sure I was prepared for whatever this operation threw at me.

"Les," I said, making sure to imbue some extra fibre into my voice so that it caught his attention. "It's fine. Let's just do it again."

The look the flashed across his face caused a lump in my throat. My twisted guts tightened. His eyes speared pain straight through my soul. He was hurt. He felt betrayed. But there wasn't really anything I could do about it. If he hadn't said anything, if we'd just done the routine again like Mungo said, we would have already been finished by now, and frankly I just wanted to be done with it all for a while.

After my episode last night, I'd taken a long shower and emerged into the main apartment area long enough to make and eat an omelette for dinner before retiring to the bedroom, citing the excuse of being exhausted and needing to be fresh for today's training. I hadn't been ready to discuss my sudden attack of feels then, and this morning, having majorly overslept, I'd been left with a grand total of five minutes to get ready and out the door if I wanted to be on time. Lester and I hadn't had the opportunity to discuss the matter other than for me to assure him I was okay when he asked me on our way out the door this morning. Between that, and my appearances of siding with the Musketeers over him, I could feel the tension forming between us. I hoped he understood that it wasn't personal. I just needed to do what I needed to do to survive up here in Boston, and having him argue with Mungo over my progress or lack thereof, wasn't helping matters. I needed to stand up and speak for myself.

"Run it once more, then we'll finish up," Hawk instructed.

That's exactly what we did. I allowed Bones to grab me the exact same way he had last time, and I tried my hardest to ignore the waves of tension rolling off Lester in order to get myself out of the hold without my apparent hesitation from last time. I definitely managed to get out of it, whether Bones went easy on me for whatever reason remains to be determined, but when I looked to Hawk and Mungo for approval, Mungo just nodded shortly and excused himself from the gym.

A silence fell over the gym for the first time all morning. Everyone was looking at each other with sideways glances, clearly awkward after the outbursts from Lester and Mungo. I know _I_ was. Lester had been my friend for five years now. One of my best friends. One of the first Merry Men to accept me with Ranger brought me into the company. And Mungo, while hard on me, was one of the few Musketeers that actually showed that he supported me and believed I could achieve what I was trying to do. I was torn.

"Good work today, everyone," Hawk said, though there was no indication in his inflection or expression that he believed his own words. "Thanks for giving up your Sunday for this. I'll get in contact with The Greatest to get the ball rolling on that front, we'll gather again after morning meeting tomorrow to go over the game plan."

There was a unison nod from the Musketeers gathered, while the Merry Men just absorbed the information. But no one moved. I was unsure whether I was actually allowed to leave yet. It sounded like we were done here, but everyone was still glued to the spot. I travelled my gaze around the group, but everyone was still watching Hawk. And Hawk wasn't paying attention. He was staring at his phone.

"Are we dismissed?" I finally asked. All eyes cut to me. It's possible that I'd just spoken out of turn, but we were wasting time here. "It's just that I need to go shop for a distraction outfit. I didn't exactly pack for that kind of thing. I figured I'd just be… ya know… w-"

"Yes," Hawk interrupted. "You're dismissed."

I hesitated a moment, because no one else was moving, but a glance at my watch showed that it was already lunch time. I wasn't all that familiar with the local mall closing times, but being that it was Sunday, I wasn't holding out hope that I had more than a few hours to get just the right dress. I'd be strapped for time, and I still had to get upstairs to freshen up. Throwing caution to the wind, I took the first step away from the group. No one followed, but I didn't have time to waste.

Halfway across the gym Lester caught up, falling into step beside me. "Hey," he said. "Look, I'm sorry if I-" And that was all he got out before Hawk's voice reached out ears, calling his name. We both stopped, looking back to the Boston second in command curiously. "Yeah?" Lester asked.

"Can I get your help with something?"

Lester looked from Hawk, to me, to Hawk and back to me again, before grimacing. "I'll catch you later," he said to me, dragging me to his chest with one arm for a quick hug. "You know I just want the best for you, right?"

"Of course," I assured him, sensing that he needed to know that I didn't hate him right now. "Give me a call when you're done with Hawk."

*o*

Upstairs, I made fast work of stripping off my slightly sweaty workout gear, intending jump in the shower just long enough to freshen up so I wouldn't offend the sales assistant when I asked her to zip me up, but I was derailed from my plan when something hard an plastic clunked against my head as I pulled my shirt up and over. An inspection of the garment as I stood in the bathroom, revealed no less than four pegs attached to the back hem.

What. The. Fuck.

I'd been suspicious yesterday when I'd encountered a peg on my clothes on two separate occasions. I didn't have any pegs, and as far as I was aware, there weren't any pegs on the shirts when I put them on. Surely I would have noticed something like that. Like I noticed taking it off. There was absolutely no way that this wasn't the guys' doing. The only question was, who? And why? Okay that's two questions, but you get what I mean.

Without the necessary time to mull over when they might have appeared on my clothes in the last few hours, I tossed the shirt aside and continued getting ready to go out. I conducted the quickest and most perfunctory cleansing in my entire life and was stepping out of the stairwell and into the garage dressed in jeans and a stretchy top within five minutes. I was headed over to key cabinet to sign out an SUV when the elevator doors pinged open, admitting Harry to the space. He was distracted by something on his phone, but his head snapped up after a split second, meeting my gaze immediately.

"Hey," he said, seeming surprised to see me. The hand not holding his phone reached up to fidget with the strap on the brim of the safari hat he wore. "I thought you'd left already."

"Smelling like that?" I asked. "No. I'm on my way out now th-" My stomach interrupted me, reminding me that I'd barely eaten breakfast, and that had been several hours ago. "And my first stop will be somewhere that sells unhealthy food to assuage the beast within," I added, putting a hand to my stomach, even though I knew it would do absolutely nothing to stop the noises it was making.

Harry had the good sense not to comment on the rumbling from my midsection, but did take the time to tuck his phone into his pocket. "That was some scene upstairs," he mentioned. "How are you holding up?"

The groan that escaped my throat rivalled the rumbling happening lower in my digestive track. "Having the guys up here is turning out to be more awkward than I'd imagined it could have been," I confessed. "I've never seen Lester like that."

"The Trenton Crew has never really gotten along with the gang up here in Boston," Harry said. "I think it has something to do with clashing management styles. We're quite strict up here thanks to Hugh's failure anxiety. Everyone is held accountable at every turn. But from what I can gather, Trenton is rather relaxed, despite being home to our hardened patriarch. Hugh resents that because he feels like he needs to work harder to get the same results. And the rest of the men resent it because Hugh makes them work that much harder."

"It doesn't mean they have to fight over me like sand toys, though," I muttered. And that's when I realised that that's exactly what they _were_ doing. It must be as awkward for Lester and the others to be up here as it was for me to have them up here. They were coming in with authority and, as it turns out, stepping on peoples toes. When it came to the training today, their opposing views of how the company should be run and what allowances should be made for me had been the root of the clash. Lester probably felt like he knew best, because he'd known me longer and was – I think – higher up in the chain of command than the other men. But Mungo had been the one putting in the hard yards lately to ensure that I had all the skills I should have learned five years ago. Each of them felt like they had a certain claim over me and didn't like the way the other was treating me.

Apparently it didn't occur to these men that I was actually a person, with thoughts and feelings and no desire to be fought over. I needed to talk to both of them and set the record straight later.

Separately.

Definitely separately. There was no way I was inviting those to into the same space without an exit strategy and emergency backup for when they both spontaneously combusted.

Sighing, I tossed a curl out of my face, only to realise that Harry was still standing in front of me, watching every expression that crossed my face. There was no doubt in my mind that he could read me like a book by now, we'd spent enough time in each other's company, and I was incapable of hiding my emotions the way all Rangeman employees are supposed to. "Are you headed home?" I asked, trying not to be concerned about what he'd probably surmised from watching my features contort, or the possibility that I'd been thinking out loud again.

"Yeah," he confirmed.

"What are the chances that I could drop by for some peanut butter?"

Harry gave me a sympathetic smile. "Any time you need," he assured me. "My door is always open." He paused, a crinkle in his forehead, and added, "That's not true. My door is always locked and I have a standard Rangeman security system… but I'd be happy to give you a spare key and the code."

"Oh," I said, shaking my head. "No. You don't have to do that. I can just-"

"I insist," he said firmly. "If you like, you can follow me back now, get some peanut butter, and I'll set you up."

"Won't your housemate be annoyed that you're handing out access to the house to random girls?"

"Reese won't mind," Harry assured me. "We have Rangemen over all the time."

I still wasn't sure about it. I'd like to say that I wasn't often given access to people's apartments and houses, but it really wasn't true. I had spare keys to mom and dad's house, Morelli's house (I really needed to return those), Tank's house and granny flat, and my Trenton Rangeman key fob was programmed to allow me access to Ranger's seventh floor penthouse apartment. People trusted me with their keys all the time. I didn't know how I felt about that. I mean, sure, it meant that people trusted me not to steal their stuff or whatever, but it was also a pretty big responsibility. I barely knew Harry, and what happened if we had a massive argument and never wanted to speak to each other again? For one, that would make work _really_ awkward. Like, let the earth open beneath my feet and swallow me whole, kind of awkward. But I could always move back to Trenton, or move desks again, or something. Returning someone's key to them actually required seeing the person and interacting with them. Or, at the very least, asking a mutual friend to return the key for you. Which, in a way, is worse.

Harry still hadn't moved his gaze from my face, harvesting my every thought as it crossed my face. "Steph," he said. "Don't over think it. It's just a key. Think of it like the key to a cupboard. You'll literally only be using it for peanut butter anyway, so that's all it is. A really big cupboard."

"But what if I-"

He silenced me with a finger on my lips, which was odd, but effective. I'm surprised none of the other men have ever tried that one before. "The fact that you're so worried about what could go wrong with this means that you're trust worthy and reliable," he said. "Now, come on, I'll give you a lift. Let's get you some peanut butter before you start crying, or ripping heads off."

"Which would you prefer?" I asked.

"If I have the choice?" he asked, not looking back at me as I followed him to his assigned SUV. "Neither. That's why I'm taking you to peanut butter."

* * *

 _ **Until next week, I hope you're all staying sane. Remember to take time for yourselves if you need it.**_


	38. Chapter 38

_I'm posting early because I have a busy weekend and I just KNOW that I'll forget to post otherwise. Think of this as a Black Friday discount, since I've had so many emails about Black Friday deals._

 **Chapter 38**

It's amazing the effect that peanut butter has on the soul. With the first bite, I could feel a calm seeping through my entire body. The second bite had be sinking into the window seat at the far end of the kitchen, a moan falling gently from my lips. Of course, Harry chose that moment to appear in the doorway, having returned from the load of laundry he'd had to attend to.

"Should I leave the two of you alone?" he asked, a bemused expression on his face. "I can offer you the spare bedroom, if you like."

I rolled my eyes, but was unable to answer straight away due to a mouth full of peanut butter that was starting to stick to the roof of my mouth. While I worked my tongue to get it moving, he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and hoisted himself up to sit on the closest counter top. He seemed content to sit in silence, but anyone who knows me knows that silence is a killer. I can't stand it.

"Thank you for letting me invade your space again," I said around the remnants of my latest bite. "You have no idea how much of a saviour you are for doing this for me."

Harry shook his head while brushing my words away in the air in front of him, as if they were pesky flies on a summer's day. "Anything for a friend," he said earnestly. "I'd have done it for any number of the guys. In fact, I _have_ done it for a few of them. Not for peanut butter, specifically, but every now and then they'll get sick of living in each other's pockets and need a time out. It can be hard living and working with the same people every day."

"I can imagine," I agreed. "But still. You didn't have to do this for me. It would have been completely reasonable to point me in the direction of a supermarket and be done with it."

"My grandmother would be turning in her grave if I did that," he assured me. "She always told me that family and friends are the most important thing in the world. If you can't be there for them when they need you, you shouldn't be with them when they don't. It's what we do in times of hardship that proves who we really are and who we can rely on."

"Your grandmother was really wise," I assured him, taking another bite and trying to contain my response to the flavours filling my mouth once more. "But I'm pretty sure she was referring to actual crises, not a woman with a peanut butter craving."

"Everyone's struggles are different," Harry shrugged. "Who am I to determine whether your need for peanut butter is going to cause a full on breakdown or not. What if peanut butter was the key to your survival and I just pushed you away?" The intensity of his eyes and the way he set his shoulders as he spoke told me that I should probably just agree and be grateful. He wasn't going to let me convince him that my need for peanut butter is trivial. So I nodded and took another bite. "What may seem small and insignificant to one person, can be something huge to someone else," he went on, apparently taking my nod as his cue to explain further. "It's like a toddler with their blankey. To you it's just a piece of cloth. To the toddler, it's the world. They can't go to sleep without it."

I didn't know how to respond. I'd already decided that I couldn't argue with his facts. He was so passionate about it. When I moved up here I didn't think I would encounter anyone like Harry. Especially not after my first few days when I was met with men saying no every time I turned around. Harry was turning into a valuable friend. One of only a handful of men who didn't ridicule my ideas as soon as they came out of my mouth. And that was important.

I'd spent my whole life with people telling me how my life is supposed to go. For too long, I pandered to my mother, listening to her tear me down at every opportunity. For too long, I allowed her and the Burg to chip parts of me away, trying to make me fit into the shape they thought I should be. The Merry Men had always been great at making me forget about the constraints the neighbourhood tried to put on me. They supported my decisions, no matter how detrimental they may have been, because they knew I needed the freedom.

A gasp escaped me as I made a sudden realisation, and I had to work quickly to avoid making a fool of myself as the mouthful of sandwich I was chewing attempted to fall out.

"What?" Harry questioned, a look of concern crossing his face. He was off the counter in a flash and kneeling in front of me. "What happened? Are you choking? Did you break a tooth?"

"I just realised why," I said, still too dumbstruck to be overwhelmed by his insistent attention. "I have to call-" But at that moment my phone started ringing in my handbag where I'd left it on the counter at the far end of the room. I knew, immediately, who it was. There was only one person for whom I'd set the ringer as _"Bringing Sexy Back."_ Sandwich still in one hand, I hurried past Harry to reach it before it rang out. _How did he know the exact moment I wanted to speak to him?_

As it turns out, it takes two hands to dig my phone out of my bag, so I had to shove the sandwich into my mouth all at once in order to avoid getting peanut butter all over everything. I swiped to accept, but my mouth was so full that I couldn't force any words out. The best I could do was a vague grunt.

"Steph?" Lester's voice penetrated my ear as I chewed furiously. "Are you okay?"

"Mmmfin," I uttered. "Jus' eeen."

"What?"

Swallowing hard, I tried again. "I'm fine," I assured him. "Just eating. I had to shove my food in my mouth so I had my hands free to find my phone."

"Right," he laughed. "Well, I'm not needed anymore today. Would it be okay if I met up with you?"

"Of course," I agreed. "I'm just finishing up here, but I'll meet you at…" I glanced over at Harry, who was attempting to not listen in, but it would be pretty hard not to. I mean, I'm in his kitchen. He looked up when I turned to face him. "A mall close by…" I said meaningfully, hoping he could give me the name or address of a mall in the area that I could meet Lester at.

Harry's eyes widened, getting my request, thank goodness, but clearly not prepared for the question. His fingers were wiggling in the air as he tried to think quickly. "Uhhh," he uhhed quietly, pacing back and forth. "I don't know what it's called. Tell him you'll text him the details."

"I don't know exactly what it's called," I repeated to Lester. "but I'll figure it out and send you a text to let you know where."

"Okay," he confirmed. "See you there."

He hung up, as per usual, and I dropped the phone back in my bag. "Thank you," I breathed, turning back to Harry once more. "You really are a saviour."

"Happy I could help."

Picking up the jar of peanut butter I'd left on the counter earlier, and grabbing a spoon out of the cutlery drawer, I scooped a mouthful in, working it over my tongue as I tidied up the mess I'd created in making my sandwich. "One of these days, I'll make it up to you," I informed him firmly. "You've been the best friend a girl could have in a new situation like this. You've had my back at nearly every turn."

He shook his head, moving to my side and taking the cutting board and butter knife from the sink as I reached for the tap to start washing them up. Instead, he opened the dishwasher door and placed them on the rack. "I'll finish up here," he said. "You should get going."

"Thank you," I repeated, hitching my handbag onto my shoulder. "You're the best. I really do owe you one."

He shooed me away, but I feel like it had more to do with him not being good at the whole gratitude thing, and less with wanting to me to leave. I hurried from the room and was halfway down the stairs when I remembered that I hadn't driven myself. I'd come in Harry's SUV. I was stranded here. Cursing under my breath, I clamoured back up the stairs.

"What'd you forget?" he asked, meeting me in the doorway to the kitchen.

"I don't have a car," I said.

His short nod made me think that he'd probably already thought of this. The fact his hand was already delving into his pocket and producing a key confirmed it. "Take my SUV," he instructed. "I'll get Reese to drop me at work tomorrow morning."

"I can probably get Lester to follow me back and drop it off so that I can catch a lift with him," I suggested.

"Too much effort," he said. "Just keep it til tomorrow. I'll be fine."

"But I feel ba-."

"Don't," he said. "Go do what you need to do. Don't worry about me."

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I shot him another grateful smile and made my way down to the garage, using all the knowledge he'd given me upon first arriving to work the garage door and ensure the alarm wasn't tripped in the process of me leaving. I backed out onto the street and the smart timer on the door closed it automatically, which was good, because I didn't have a button to do it and didn't relish the thought of getting out to close it manually. I did realise, as I approached the end of the street, though, that I had no clue where a mall was. I needed to pull over and fiddle with the SatNav.

*o*

"So I was thinking during lunch," I called to Lester through the change room door. I'd picked out several options for my distraction outfit, while Lester unhelpfully handed me all the skimpiest pieces that I would never be able to hide my wire in, and was now working my way steadily through the pile. The latest? A form fitting red number that I might have picked up in the wrong size, because I was having a hard time getting it over my ass. Was this how Lula felt every morning when she got dressed? If so, I would need to show her a little more respect. Anyone who works this hard for their clothes deserves some recognition.

"That's a dangerous pastime," Lester called back.

"I know, but I realised something that's pretty important," I said, jumping as I pulled the dress. "It made me realise why some things are the way they are."

"I'm all ears," he assured me. "Though I wouldn't mind being eyes at the moment as well. Are you doing cardio in there? You sound like you're doing jumping jacks. You know that's not going to have any immediate effects that will help you fit in the dress, right?"

"Har, har," I said sarcastically, switching to wiggling. "I think the red dress is too small."

"Which one?" he asked.

I glanced over at the pile sprawled across the little chair and realised we'd picked out at least six red dresses. "Ah…," I tried to pick out a defining feature to help him. "The, um… tight one…"

"There were a couple of tight ones," Lester pointed out.

"With the ruching?" I tried again.

"Did you undo the zipper?"

"There is no zipper," I sighed, tugging at it some more. "You're thinking of a different dress."

"No, I don't think I am. There's a little zipper under the left arm."

"No there is-" I checked under the left arm and sure enough there was a little zipper. Just long enough that it would allow my ass to get through the smaller bust section. "Your attention to detail is uncanny," I informed Lester, on a grumble.

"You gotta know where the exits are," he said nonchalantly, though I could hear the laughter in his voice. I was never going to quit being a source of amusement to people, I realised. That was something I was just going to have to come to terms with. "You fumble and a girl loses respect for you. She starts to wonder if you'll be able to find the right spot if you can't find the zipper."

I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn't see me, and finally pulled the dress up, slipping my arms into the straps and securing the zipper under my arm.

"So my thoughts," I said, opening the door to find Lester leaning against the wall just outside, feigning looking bored so that the other women won't get freaked out and call the change room attendants to ask him to leave. "When I first met you guys, I was in a –"

"Wait, wait, wait," Lester said, holding up a hand to stop the words coming out of my mouth as he pushed off the wall. He was inspecting the dress, and apparently was incapable of multitasking at this point in time. I shouldn't be surprised, men usually can't. "Turn around."

I turned half way around, showing him the back of the dress. I wasn't worried about him perving, he'd seen my ass in more revealing dresses in the past. I'm pretty sure he's made every suggestive comment about my ass possible at this point. If he could come up with something I hadn't heard before I'd be surprised. It was almost a tradition that when I arrived ready for a distraction and my dress was revealed he would praise it to the point of worship. Mostly just to annoy Ranger, I'm pretty sure. Last I checked my ass wasn't hat great.

"Damn, gurl," he uttered, sounding almost exactly like Lula, which was disturbing, I have to say. "Dat ass is fine. I thought it was tight before, but this is phenomenal. The entire male population needs to send Mungo a thank you note, because if those buns in that dress don't make them weak in the knees, they're blind."

"Should I call Bobby so you can gush to him?" I asked, trying not to blush. I certainly was feeling fitter than I'd ever been before, but I hadn't really considered that I might look better as well.

"Hey," Lester said. "Bobby and I are secure in our relationship. We check people out together all the time. You should try this dress with your hair out." And without giving me a chance to object, or take out my hair myself, his hands were in my hair, unravelling the elastic that bound it together. In a few quick movements he had freed my curls and was fluffing them around my head. "Turn back around to face me?" I did as I was asked and found that he was nodding. "I think this is the one," he said.

"There's still, like, ten more options in there," I reminded him.

"Good point," he said. "Better try them all just be sure. But I'll hold on to this one so we know it's a keeper."

"Are you going to let me share my epiphany?" I asked, hand on one popped hip. He was being very good at avoiding anything of substance right now.

He shook his head, eye solemn. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait until you're in an uglier dress," he said. "I can't concentrate looking at your figure in this one."

Rolling my eyes again, I retreated back into the little cubicle and started taking the offending distraction off, tossing it over the door for Lester to catch. I picked up the next dress on the pile, a fairly unattractive pink colour that Lester had insisted I try on, even though I rarely looked good in pink. Hopefully this would be ugly enough that I could hold his attention on my words instead of my body long enough to let him know what I'd discovered. It slipped on easily due to the fact that it was considerably more flowing than the previous one, and stepped back out.

"Ugh," he groaned. "I didn't mean _that_ hideous."

"You picked it," I reminded him. "Are you listening now?"

"You have my undivided attention," he assured me, disgust clear on his face. "I can't look at that atrocity."

Taking the elastic back from him, I gathered my hair back into a pony tail so that it was no longer falling in my face. "So when you guys first met me, I was struggling under the oppressive views of the Burg," I began. "My mother and the neighbourhood I'd grown up in were trying to shape me into something I'd never wanted to be. I was grating against their gossip, trying to carve out some freedom. I took a job at Vinnie's because it was all that I could find and I needed money to cover the rent. Connie called in a favour with Ranger – a favour I'm still curious about, by the way, how did Ranger end up owing Connie? – to help me out. He taught me the basics. Enough to make me mostly capable at my job."

Lester nodded to let me know he was following. I'm glad, because this was basic history, and if he didn't know it by now, he'd been living under a rock for the last five years.

"I met you guys, and I started working for Rangeman on and off, but at no point did anyone think to _make_ me get the training and pass the necessary check points that had been set up for employees," I continued, fiddling with the hideous fabric of the dress. "I didn't realise it at the time, though. It was only when I got up here and they were insisting that if I couldn't prove myself in the gym and the gun range that I saw how much the rules had been bent for me. I'm not gonna lie, I was confused, and even a little bit hurt. I was thinking things like 'Did they not want me to succeed?' But then you and the guys came up, and that scene in the gym this morning with Mungo. And at the time I just felt awkward and kinda annoyed that you guys were fighting over me. But then it hit me. You didn't make me get the training because you didn't want to force me to be something I wasn't ready to be. You'd just helped liberate me from the Burg and didn't want to push me away by doing what could be interpreted as the same thing."

I let that sink in for a moment. Lester's expression wasn't exactly blank, but it wasn't exactly open, either. He enjoyed these kinds of conversations about as much as I did. And the fact that it was about _his_ behaviour meant that he was keeping his emotions closely guarded. He knew he'd overstepped and that I hadn't been happy about it. But I wasn't reaming him out like I had a tendency to do when I was annoyed with people making decisions for me. And that made him nervous.

"When I came up to Boston, they didn't have the same qualms as the Trenton crew had about turning me into something I wasn't ready to be. I'd already proven that I wanted to be in this industry, and that I'm pretty good at it. But my skills were lacking. They were shocked. _How could I have gotten this far without proper training?_ So that took it upon themselves to hold me to the same standard as everyone else. To push me to my full potential."

I paused again. Hoping he was good enough at math to put it together without me having to say it. I know I tend to talk a lot, but this was excessive amounts of words even for me.

"What's your point?" he finally asked, his brow furrowing.

"The Merry Men's love for me has prevented them from pushing me to get the training I needed. The Musketeers weren't worried about loving me, so they _did_ push me. And when you saw them forcing me to repeat the holds over and over until they were perfect, it stirred up all those unconscious feelings from when I first joined the ranks back in Trenton. You were afraid that if they pushed me too hard I'd rebel against the entire Rangeman company and desert you guys just the same as I'd deserted the Burg," I summarised.

"I-" Lester started, then shook his head. "That is very insightful. And… I feel… ashamed? Of my actions?" He ran a hand through his hair, breaking up his perfectly spiked look. "I didn't realise how much we weren't helping," he admitted. "I don't think any of us did. We should have helped you get more training sooner. I'm sorry."

"Hey," I said, brushing it off with a flick of the wrist. "It's all good. I don't blame you. Not wanting to lose someone makes us go to drastic measures sometimes."

"You're right," he agreed, the awkwardness melting away from him. "Now get that dress off before I vomit. We're going with the sexy red number, and we still need to find shoes before the stores close."

"And lingerie," I added, scooting back into the stall. "But I'm not modelling that for you."

"What!?" Lester exclaimed. "No fair!"

"Completely fair," I countered. "If you want someone to model lingerie for you, go ask Bobby."

* * *

 ** _This is one of my favourite chapters for this story so far._**


	39. Chapter 39

_Popping my head out of the theatre daze I've been in (Just finished with opening night of the show I've been working on most of the year, that I helped write the script for. It's been a huge success so far, even though the cast are all melting from the heat on stage under the lights) to give you all my weekly update. Proceed with caution._

 **Chapter 39**

"Appletini," I requested a Bones approached by end of the bar, flicking my hair over my shoulder. It was in my face as well, but I tried to refrain from tucking it behind my ear as much as possible on distraction jobs. The amount of times the guys had reminded me through my earpiece that it made me look nervous, and would potentially give us away, was enough to stick in my brain and stay my fingers.

"You look more attractive with it falling naturally anyway," Hank had reminded me as I stepped out of my bedroom back at Rangeman earlier this evening. He and the others from Trenton had all been gathered in my apartment as an unnecessary show of moral support as I'd been getting ready.

Really, I think they were just fascinated by the amount of makeup products I'd ended up coming home with after my shopping trip with Lester - I'd never experienced so many confused faces staring back at me from the mirror as I contoured before. It was a feat of physics that we'd all been able to fit in the bathroom at once, for a start, and then they were enthralled by my every brush stroke.

"That looks exactly the same as what you just put on," Hal had pointed out as I pulled out yet another brown-beige pallet. "How can you tell which one is for what?"

"Practice and youtube," I'd informed him. Don't even get me started on their reaction to eyeliner and false lashes. I'm fairly certain Bones now thinks I'm a masochist.

Their comments, though ignorant to the ways of a woman and annoying at times – how do you expect me to explain how I'm not crying or poking myself in the eyes when I clearly have to hold my mouth open at this exact angle in order to get the eyeliner straight? – served well to ground me. Lester's lack of suggestions of alterations to my look told me I'd nailed my demographic, which, but Rangeman standards, was pretty tame. He was very vanilla in his tastes, I had to say. My style tonight was so bland that it could almost be acceptable to wear to a Burg wedding.

 _Almost_ , I mentally emphasised as I hoisted myself up onto the bar stool just down to the skip and the hem of my skin tight red dress rode up so far that anyone standing in front of me would have gotten a decent eyeful. It's a good thing I was facing the bar.

I tugged the hem down a fraction of an inch as Bones set my mocktail in front of me and retreated further down the bar to serve real customers while he kept an eye on me. I took a sip of the green drink and let out a relieved sigh I'd perfected through practice on these jobs. Generally speaking, the skips that are perfect candidates for distractions tend to be attracted to women who are overly stressed from the work week, or emotionally damaged in some way. Displaying how much the drink soothed my nerves was a standard move to draw their attention.

Mr Jake Hernandez, the target of the evening, was no exception.

I rolled my shoulders a couple of times to 'loosen' the tension there and rested my forearms on the bar on either side of my glass. His eyes were glued on me the moment I set the glass down after that initial sip, the shoulder rolling was to make sure he knew just how 'exhausted' I was. An exhausted woman was clearly going to be an easier target than a woman with a lot of energy.

"Long day, honey?" Hernandez asked, turning only his upper body to face me as he leaned on the bar.

"Long _month_ ," I corrected. "This is my first night off in weeks. I was supposed to meet a girlfriend for drinks, but she cancelled on me last minute."

"That's too bad," he sympathised.

I shook my head, taking another sip of my drink and screwing up my face. "I should have seen it coming," I informed the man. "She _always_ bails. At least she usually gives a fair warning. Not tonight though. I was already dressed and putting on my makeup. Who does that?! Literally, all I had left was mascara and lip gloss."

Hernandez was nodding, encouraging my rant. "So rude."

"I hated drinking alone," I confessed, slipping the slice of apple off the rim of the glass and nibbling it in the most benignly seductive manner I could manage, "But I _need_ ed this night out. And I _was_ already dressed, so I came out anyway."

"You're not drinking alone," Hernandez assured me. "There's a bar full of people here. Drinking alone is drinking in your kitchen with the lights off. This may not be the night of catch ups you had planned, but that doesn't mean you can't socialise."

"Ugh," I groaned. "You're right. It's not a lost cause. My mother _has_ been on my back about finding a husband lately. Maybe I should test drive a couple of models."

He laughed and glanced around the room. "Not many model types in this joint," he pointed out. "Just exhausted men and women looking for a way to wind down."

"You don't look exhausted," I said, swivelling on my stool and crossing one leg over the other. By the slightly less than subtle flicker of his eyes toward my crotch, I could only imagine the show he'd just received.

"I work in middle management, honey," he said, as if that explained it. "But you." Gesturing to my figure, he slipped off his stool, closing the distance between us until he was mere inches away, his elbow propped on the bar while his free hand reached out and made contact with my upper arm, sliding it up and down in a way that he probably thought was seductive, but was really just annoying. "It should be illegal to be as attractive as you."

I let out a breathy laugh to show that he was 'endearing' me and flipped forward over my shoulder in an attempt to hide from his compliment. Low self-esteem is another attractive quality to a man who preys on women. "Don't lie," I tried to deflect. "I know I look terrible." A lie, of course. By all accounts I looked the best I ever had. I was fitter, my hair had decided to work _with_ me instead of against me for a change, my eyeshadow game was on point, and the dress was definitely a stunner. I could still hear the echoes of Lester's reaction when I'd sat down to buckle the straps on my heels: _"Jesus Christ, did I mention how good you look?"_

He did, for the record. Several times thousand times. He was like a broken record as I flitted about the apartment applying last minute adjustments. Every time I twisted my body a different way he emitted an appreciative hum, reminding me of his thoughts on the dress.

I turned back toward the bar to take another sip of my drink, and a similar hum came from Hernandez. I willed a blush onto my cheeks, hoping to add to the appearance of my embarrassment. It must have worked, because the skip moved a piece of my hair out of the way to see my face better, leaning in closer, probably to catch my eye.

"Hey," he said gently. "You're beautiful. And anyone who says otherwise isn't worth your time. Come dance with me and let me show you just how beautiful you are."

I shook my head. "I'm a terrible dancer," I said. "My ex had to have two of his toes amputated because I stood on his toes with my stilettos. I-"

"Nonsense," he said, laying a hand on top of mine where it rested on the bar. "Have you ever considered that _he_ was the one that was a bad dancer? Come." He tugged on my hand. "Let me show you."

He was definitely coming on strong. If I was anyone else I probably would have been alerting someone to the fact that he was pestering me. I knew from the victim's statement that he was insistent, but I didn't think it was going to be this abrupt. It was like he wasn't even trying to be subtle. My Spidey Senses were starting to tingle, but I couldn't back out now. I had to go through with the job to prove to the Musketeers that this method worked.

"Alright," I agreed, downing the rest of my Appletini. "Lead the way."

And lead he did. Over on the dance floor he positioned us so that there was barely enough room for a playing card to squeeze between us, his knee between mine, and his hands low on my back once he'd guided mine up around his neck. I could feel far too much of him against my stomach, if you know what I mean. We swayed to the music for a bit before he started adding a grinding movement to the dance. It was definitely not what I wanted from an FTA, but I had to pretend to be into it.

I was never too sure how I managed to fool skips on these jobs, because the men were constantly telling me that I was a terrible liar. But they also commended my acting abilities on distractions. Maybe I was just terrible at lying to them? I don't know. But what I _did_ know was that Hernandez was _very_ into the way my body felt against his. We danced to three songs in a row, his movements becoming more intimate as time passed, his hands slipping down to cover my ass, or up to squeeze my breasts. At one point he was trailing his fingers up my thigh, and I had to employ every ounce of self-control I had in me in order to not slap him away. I felt violated and he hadn't even tried anything overtly sexual with me.

When he started nuzzling my neck towards the end of the third song, I decided it was time to put an end to it. I was going to need a thousand boiling hot showers to scrub the feel of his stubble off my skin later.

"I need a drink," I panted, running my hand over his face in an attempt to dislodge him.

"As you wish," he agreed. Grinning, he led me off the dance floor. Bones was at our end of the bar as we approached, having heard our conversation through the comms, and was ready to take our order. "A scotch for me, and another of those enticing green drinks for the lady," Hernandez requested, his hand still on my ass.

Bones disappeared for a few moments to gather our drinks and I slipped up onto a bar stool at Hernandez's urgings. I can't say I was complaining, my feet were killing me. I hadn't worn heels in months, and these ones were especially tall. I hadn't thought to buy any shoe cushions while I was shopping on the weekend.

Hernandez sat on the stool beside me, fiddling with my fingers, and talking about his dog, of all things, when Bones set the drinks down in front of us. Being the good fake bartender he was, he sat mine down in front of me so that Hernandez wouldn't have any reason to touch it, and I immediately took a sip. Appletinis weren't my drink of choice at all, but they were easy to make non-alcoholic, which was always a plus on these jobs, and they were the kind of drink the victim preferred. I wasn't sure if that was a contributing factor to Hernandez's selection process, but I didn't think it would hurt to add it into the mix tonight.

"How long have you been single?" Hernandez asked, having finished telling me about how his dog was pregnant with its first litter.

"About three months," I replied. "Leaving him was the best thing that ever happened to me as far as I'm concerned. He was bad news. Cheated on me, then accused me of cheating on him."

Hernandez looked shocked, though I was pretty sure he was faking it. "I don't understand how anyone could think you're not enough for them," he informed me, leaning forward into my space. "You're so sensual. I imagine you're great in the bedroom."

I blushed again, looking away from him, across the people milling around to where I'd spotted Lock sitting in a booth earlier. I was very vanilla in the bedroom. Not very adventurous at all. I'd pretended to be into kinky things on previous distractions, but that wasn't what this guy was into. He was a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am kind of guy. Usually in the alley out back of the bar. Nevertheless, I could see that this line of conversation was my best bet at getting him to accompany me out of the building and into the waiting arms of the Rangeman employees stationed by the doors. I had to make him think I was willing to sleep with him.

"You've really been let down by men, haven't you?" he asked, using a single finger on my jaw to draw my attention back to him. His gaze was almost sincere.

"I'm really not that good at anything," I told him. "I could never please my ex properly."

"Hogwash," Hernandez scoffed. "A woman like you can make a man come with nothing more than a come hither look." I doubted that very much. But hey, who am I to awaken this man to his delusions. My only job here was to lure him out of the bar.

We spoke for a while more, and I allowed his hands to caress me as they pleased. He made no attempts to get beneath my clothing, so there was no need to protest. I had two more appletinis in this time and started acting much more receptive to his advances. I knew I had to get him out of the bar. I had to seal this deal, but my thoughts were getting a little fuzzy around the edges. Had Bones accidentally slipped me alcoholic beverages all night? I took another sip of my drink, noting that it did not _taste_ alcoholic, but also did not taste quite right. It's sweet, apple flavour was tainted somehow.

I made the decision to stop drinking it, but that meant I would have to distract the guy from the fact that I wasn't drinking it anymore. I swept my hair back with a flick of my head. A bad decision as my vision swam before me with the action, a wave of dizziness sloshing over me. Something was most definitely not right here. Bracing one hand on the bar, I tucked my curls behind my ear to keep them out of my face. They were so annoying when they were in my face. I don't know why I bothered to wear my hair out.

"Excuse me," I said, laying a hand on Hernandez's chest as he stared at the side of my neck, brows furrowing. What was up with that? "I need to go powder my nose."

I literally slipped off the stool, my legs unsteady beneath me. I could feel them shaking like Bambi's when Thumper was trying to teach him to skate. If I made it to the ladies room without falling over, it'd be a miracle. My first step was a shemozzle. I planted my foot wrong and rolled my ankle. If it hadn't been for Hernandez's arm, I would have crumpled to the floor right then and there. "I don't feel so good," I announced as he wrapped his arm around my waist and started guiding me toward the back hall.

"I think you've had a little too much to drink," Hernandez informed me, his tone different than before. I couldn't pick how, but he was definitely not in the same mood he'd been in a few minutes ago. "Let me help you."

"Okay," I agreed, because there was no way I would make it anywhere in this state. Something was definitely wrong. I needed to get out of here. I needed get Hernandez outside. Maybe I could get him to take me out for some fresh air. "I cooloose some frejair," I slurred. My tongued felt like a foreign object in my mouth. Was it even my tongue anymore? Had it been swapped? I looked over to Hernandez accusingly, trying to gauge whether it was his tongue that I had in my mouth. That was disgusting. His tongue had probably done unspeakable things. He probably licked ash trays for fun. He-

"Let's get you some fresh air," he agreed, leading me down the hall and through a few doors.

This was bad. This wasn't the way to the back exit. And it wasn't the way to the front exit. I had no idea where he was taking me. I needed to get away from him. I needed to alert the guys to what was going on. I needed to remember our safe word. It was a vegetable of some kind. One of the gross ones. Cabbage? Maybe it was cabbage. "Ismellzzz lige cabbjuh in ear," I mumbled toward my chest.

No response.

The earpiece I had in didn't relay all conversations like the ones the men were wearing. They could only speak to me if they pressed a button to connect. And they would only do that in a state of emergency. Maybe cabbage wasn't the right vegetable.

"Brussssel sssproutsss," I said carefully, forcing whoever's tongue I had into the correct shapes.

"What are you doing?" Hernandez demanded, squeezing my upper arm. Hard. When had he gripped me there?

"Lissing my favite vegables," I replied coolly. At least I thought it was coolly. It's hard to tell when you mouth is being uncooperative and your head feels like your brain has been replaced with soggy fairy floss, disintegrating quickly. "Eggplan, spagarus, ptatoh."

"Just shut up, will you?" he said, just as there was a crackling in my ear.

"Steph?" came Lester's voice. "What's going on."

"I don' feeeeeel goo-," I replied, just as Hernandez dragged me out into the open air.

Success! I thought. Now the guys can nab him and I can go lie down so the world stops spinning.

But the guys didn't nab him. "Annn mint nowww," I slurred loudly.

"Shut up!" Hernandez snapped, slamming me against the wall next to the door.

"Steph, where are you?" Lester asked. "The guys inside lost visual. Describe your location."

"Ouside," I mumbled, blinking at the stars that filled my vision. Were these the night sky? Or had I hit my head? I couldn't remember. This was bad. I hadn't been drinking. How was I like this? Where were the men who were supposed to be stationed on the exits? "Lesser?" I called, but my throat was restricted, my voice hoarse. "Lesser whereayour?"

"We're coming, Beautiful," Lester replied, his voice hitching, like he was running. "Just hang on."

I could hear them now. Men shouting. Pounding footsteps. Rasping breath.

No wait. That was Hernandez. He was hitching up my dress and shoving at my legs to get them to move. Jokes on him, I can't even move my legs at the moment, he'd have to work hard for that. I felt his hand right at the edge of my panties and suddenly stiffened. No. Not happening. With every ounce of my strength, and will, I lifted my knee and rammed it into his crotch. He cried out in pain, as he should, but it didn't deter him too much. He still had his hands on me and was still all up in my business.

I was about to try again when he suddenly flew away backwards. Without his insistent pressure keeping me up my legs gave out for the final time and I slumped to the hard, filthy ground. Not even enough strength to cover my panties which were clearly on display from Hernandez's tugging.

Everything was a blur of movement and sound. A lot of black clad men riding in to save the day. There were grunts and shouts and then a face swam into my view. They were talking to me, but it was all beyond my comprehension, and the next thing I knew I was being lifted in a pair of strong arms and carried away.

* * *

 ** _I'm off to bed, but you should all send in a review and let me know your thoughts on this distraction._**


	40. Chapter 40

_Thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing this story. I can guarantee two more weekly updates after this one. Just enough to get us to Christmas. After that you'll be at the mercy of the muse as I write and update in real time._

 **Chapter 40**

The first thing I remember hearing was an argument. My eyes weren't even open yet and my brain was being overloaded with information. Loud information. Loud information that I couldn't quite interpret. It was just noise. An argument shaped noise. It was a shape I would recognise anywhere. My parents' noise used to make this shape a lot when I was young. I would wake up late at night to the noise of their arguments filtering up the stairs from the kitchen. It upset me then, and it upset me now. Why were the men arguing so close to my apartment and so loudly that it felt like they were right outside my bedroom door?

I groaned and rolled over, wrapping the pillow around my head to muffle their voices. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck, and they weren't even letting me sleep it off. Inhaling deeply, I tried to recall why I felt so shocking, but was distracted by the fact that the scent of the room, the sheets, the pillow, wasn't right. I'd grown accustomed to whatever laundry powder the house keeper used here in Boston, and this wasn't it. This was not the fresh sea breeze of my apartment. Nor was it the lemony citrus of Tank's granny flat back in Trenton. It was something different. Something that tickled my nose and awoke in me a memory that was nothing more than laughter and low lighting.

Whatever that was, wherever it was from, it was definitely not what I was surrounded with right now. Realising that I was in unfamiliar territory, and that the antiseptic smell of a hospital was missing, I started to pay a little more attention to the men arguing outside the room I was in. Were they friends or foes? What were they arguing about? Should I be finding a weapon?

Slowly, I rolled back onto my back, releasing the pillow and cracking open a single eye to take stock of the room. Low lighting coming from a lamp on the far side of the bed. No windows to speak of. That was odd. Maybe I was in a basement. I cracked open the other eye, despite the pain in my head the first eye opening had caused and looked around some more, this time with depth perception. Two doors, one probably leading to the building beyond this room, the other an en suite or closet, neither of which was helpful. A dresser with a hat perched on top. A chair with some men's clothes tossed over them. A-

Wait.

A hat?

Harry?

I scooted into a more upright position, intending to get up and investigate in closer quarters, but my head spun with the change in angle and altitude, and my stomach lurched. Whatever had happened, I was _not_ ready to be up and about yet.

One of those urban legends ran through my mind just then. The one about waking up in a bathtub with a missing kidney. I hadn't woken up in a bathtub, but I felt compelled to check for my kidneys just to be sure. I lifted the sweatshirt I wore with limbs that must have been filled with lead they were so heavy, and quickly ran my hands over my sides and abdomen, looking for stitches or bandages.

None. Thank god.

I collapsed back against the pillows once more and contemplated the hat on the dresser some more. It was like a short top hat with a rounded top. And it _did_ look familiar. Had I seen Harry wearing a hat like this before? Could this be Harry's bedroom? Was Harry one of the men outside arguing?

One way to find out.

Well, okay, technically there were a few ways to find out. But in my current mysterious condition, I could only think of one that would work for me.

"Harry?" I called. More like croaked. My voice sounded like someone had made me smoke a pack of cigarettes a day for twenty years. I tried clearing it and calling out again with little success. I couldn't manage any more volume, and without a glass of water or a lozenge or something it wasn't going to get any less croaky. I had to try, though.

"Harry?"

I must have been a little louder this time, because the men outside stopped their squabbling for several seconds.

"Did you hear that?" one of the men asked.

"Hear what?" the other responded.

"I thought I heard something from my room," the first replied, sounding closer to the door now. Well, that solved it. The room I was in definitely belonged to one of the men outside, and I was pretty sure it sounded like Harry. I tried calling out again, but my croak had worsened so that it took great effort to even make a sound. "I'm just gonna poke my head in and check on her," Harry said, opening the door. And just as he'd announced, his face appeared around the edge of the door a moment later, brows drawn together in concern. When he caught sight of me, sat up in his bed looking dishevelled and thoroughly confused, he disappeared once more, only to return a few seconds later with the rest of his body, and another body sidling into the room behind him.

"Steph," the second body said, while I tried to focus on him. "How are you feeling?"

"Where am I?" I asked, though it came out more like " _wh-*silence*my?"_ But this didn't stop me from trying to getting all my other questions out. _"_ Wha- ha-penned?" I said carefully, being sure to force each syllable out. "Whe-"

"Hang on," Harry said. "I'll get you a glass of water."

As he ducked back out of the room, the other man – Stitch, I realised – came to sit on the edge of the bed, setting his medic bag on the floor beside his feet. The dim light from the lamp beside the bed was enough to illuminate the grave expression on his face as he picked up my wrist and pressed his fingers to the inside to take my pulse. I stayed quiet, despite all the questions running through my head, because the nausea that had been a mere background presence up until now was rolling in my gut like a row boat in the middle of the ocean during a cyclone and I was afraid that if I opened my mouth again, I would vomit all over Stitch. That was no way to repay him for taking care of me through whatever ordeal had befallen me.

I really would like to have that fact clarified.

Stitch leaned forward, reaching into his bag and coming up with a thermometer. He started to hold it toward me, but stopped abruptly as his eyes followed a second behind. "Oh shit," he muttered, dropping the thermometer and disappearing from my immediate view. "Please don't vomit until I've found a bucket or something. I can deal with a lot of things, but vomit is not one of them. If you vomit, I'll vomit."

"Stop," I croaked, pausing to get my stomach back under control before finishing my sentence. "Saying vomit."

"Right," Stitch agreed. "Right, sorry. I just- Ah ha!"

Suddenly he was back in front of me, a plastic, bucket-like waste paper bin thrust toward me. I took it immediately as my stomach lurched once more and I couldn't prevent the inevitable any longer. I retched once, twice, and then everything I'd consumed recently, which admittedly, didn't appear to be much, was making a reappearance.

I'd expected to feel better once I'd hurled. It was a common enough occurrence that it seemed reasonable, but as my stomach settled some, stopping its convulsions, I didn't feel any better than I had when I first woke up. This was worse than the time I'd eaten the questionable chicken I'd found in my fridge.

"Are you done?" Stitch asked from the far end of the bed where he was facing away from me with his hands over his ears. This was not exactly the reaction I'd expected from the company medic. I'd vomited in front of most of the A Team from Trenton before and none of them were so squeamish that they had to turn away and cover their ears. Slowly, he lowered his hands and turned back around, a look of relief when he saw that I leaning back against the pillows again. "Sorry," he said. "Lucky for me I don't have to deal with much of that kind of stuff in this line of business. I have no problem digging bullets out of wherever they get lodged. I can even deal with the infections some of the men tend to get when they don't follow my instructions for keeping their stitches clean. But this," he waved his hand over the bucket. "Not so much."

I would have nodded my understanding, or made some kind of acknowledgement, but moving hurt and I didn't want to upset my stomach any more than it already was. So I settled for blinking at him and hoping that that small action conveyed all the thoughts and questions running through my brain. They didn't, of course, but luckily for both of us Harry returned at that moment, bottle of water in one hand, box of saltines in the other and another man trailing behind him.

Lester.

It's ridiculous, but I felt a little better just seeing him. Like a small pebble of my anxiety over what had happened that I would be in this situation dissolved.

"Hey Beautiful," he said softly, climbing onto the bed beside me. "How're you handling things?" Without looking, he grabbed the bucket from my grasp and handed it off to Harry behind him with one hand, receiving the bottle of water with the other. As Harry disappeared from the room again to dispose of my stomach contents, Lester cracked open the water and held it out to me, which I accepted gratefully and took a few careful sips.

"Sorry I wasn't here when you woke up," Lester said, shifting so that he was leaning against the pillows next to me, his arm snaking around my shoulders. "I was required at the morning debrief with Hugh. Needless to say he wasn't happy with how this all panned out in the end, but we got the guy and managed to get you out of there quickly, so it's not all bad."

"It's terrible," Stitch corrected, having recovered some now that my vomit was not between us. "This is exactly the kind of thing we were afraid would happen."

"But this is the first time something like this has ever happened on a distraction," Lester shot back. "If we'd been working with-" I could see that he was building up a head of steam, and Stitch wasn't much better off, so I decided now was as good a time as any to reiterate the questions circling my head.

"What happened?" I asked, pleased to find that the persistent croak in my voice was gone. "I remember getting ready and arriving at the bar, but-"

"We believe you were the unfortunate victim of a dose of Rohypnol," Stitch explained, calming himself instantly. Or, at least, blanking his face so that he appeared calm.

"Rohy-" I tried to question, but the word just refused to roll of my tongue.

"You were roofied," Lester supplied.

"We think," Stitch iterated firmly, holding the thermometer in front of my face waiting for me to dutifully open my mouth for him to insert it. "We won't know until we get the lab results back."

I wasn't ready to have my new found ability to speak hampered by his need to check my temperature. "Lab results?" I asked, frowning as I glanced around the room once more. "As in the hospital?"

"No hospitals," Stitch assured me. "Bobby made it clear when he was briefing us that hospitals were to be avoided unless absolutely necessary."

This news caused my body to relax, releasing a built up tension that I didn't realise I was carrying. It didn't change the ache that was weighing heavily on me, but at least I knew I didn't have to put up with probing doctors and the like. I should have guessed as much by the fact that we were in someone's bedroom.

Speaking of which, I still hadn't determined who's bedroom we were in for certain.

"If we're not at the hospital, where are we?" I asked.

"My house," Harry announced, returning from his bucket cleaning duties and placing said receptacle on the bed beside Lester in case I needed it again. "It was closest and most discreet last night," he explained. "We didn't think you wanted the other men seeing you in the condition you were in."

I started to nod my head, but then realised I didn't exactly know what condition I'd been in last night. I couldn't remember much past ordering my first drink. I know I started talking to the skip, but everything after that moment of contact and the moment I woke up in this bed was just a blur of nothingness with the occasional image or sound bite.

The confusion must have been showing on my face, because Lester pulled me closer to his side with a gentle squeeze and Harry sat down at the foot of the bed. "When the Rohypnol started affecting you last night," Stitch began to explain, "You started losing control of your speech ability, slurring your words. That's what originally tipped us off that something was wrong. You were drinking non-alcoholic cocktails and had only had one, you should have been as clear headed as you were when we were going over the plan one last time before we left Rangeman."

"As soon as we realised something was amiss we were rallying to get you out of there, but before we could make a move, the skip was 'helping' you out back," Harry continued, his tone scathing as he spoke of the man that was probably responsible for this whole mess. "Unfortunately, the exit he chose was for employees only, and so we hadn't thought to have anyone stationed there."

"When we caught up he was trying to make a move on you, and you were trying to fend him off, but you didn't have full control over your limbs at that point," Lester said. He, too, was sounding bitter, not that I could blame him. Hearing what had happened to me was starting to raise my anger levels. I wanted to practice one of the kicks Mungo had been teaching me on this guy's groin. "He had some buddies for back up that arrived right about the time that we did which kept us busy while Stitch and Harry got you out of there."

"Did he-" I started to ask, but my voice cut out before I could finish the question. A certain panic seizing my throat in its grips and squeezing, hard. If I'd been out of the men's field of surveillance, even for the short time that they said, anything could have happened.

"We don't believe he managed to get that far," Stitch replied, having apparently guessed where my question was heading. "You were doing your best to fight him off when we rounded the corner into the alley and your underwear was still in place and so were his pants. Reviewing the security footage from in and around the bar didn't reveal any particularly unsavoury acts, and he wasn't out of frame at any given time long enough to do anything. If you're worried, though, we can get a rape test kit done."

I shook my head, but even I wasn't sure if I was saying no to the test kit or if I was just having a hard time taking in the information. I took a moment to mentally assess my body. My limbs were heavy and aching, yes, but my intimate area did not feel any different than it normally did. And I trusted the guys. If they thought I should get the kit done they would have insisted on it rather than offer it as an option. "I don't think so," I said quietly. "It doesn't feel like-"

"You don't have to explain anything to us that you don't want to," Lester said. "We understand how difficult this must be for you."

"What lab results are we waiting on?" I asked, rather than dwell on the uncomfortable tension that was beginning to fill the room. "And how did you manage to swing lab tests without taking me to the hospital?"

"Reese called in a favour with a friend at work and got them to do a house call," Harry explained. "They took some blood for toxology testing."

"Toxicology," Stitch corrected. "Toxology is the study of archery."

Lester shrugged. "Well, maybe they're doing that too," he suggested, grinning in that ridiculous way he does whenever he knows he's said something stupid. I couldn't help but smile a little in return. Before anyone could say anything else, though, a phone started ringing. Judging by how close it sounded and the fact that I could feel the vibrations against my thigh, I figured it was Lester's. "That'll be Bobby," he announced over the ringing as he removed his arm from my shoulder and dug the device from his pocket. "I promised to call him once I'd had a chance to check on you."

He swiped the screen to answer the call and hit the speaker button, not even having the chance to greet his partner before there was a torrent of questions streaming from the phone. "How is she? Is she awake yet? What does she remember? Has the tox report come back? What's her temperature? Is she feverish? Make sure drinks lots of water."

"Bobby," Lester tried to interrupt, but he had a full head of steam built up and the words kept flowing.

"She may not have been drinking but the –"

"Bobby," Lester tried again to no avail.

"-cure may be worth a try if she's feeling under the weather."

"Bobby," I cut in, and upon registering a female voice the phone was silenced.

"Steph," he breathed. "Thank god. How are you feeling? Are you feverish? Vomitting?"

Lester and I exchanged a glance. Bobby was a worry wart. No doubt about it. And the fact that he was not here to make sure I was being taken care of properly must have been killing him.

"I feel like I've been hit by a truck," I interrupted Bobby's resumed and repeated questions. "My limbs are achy, my throat is dry and I have a headache. My stomach is unsettled and I've already thrown up. I have a bottle of water in my hand that I've taken a few sips o-"

"Drink some more now," Bobby instructed. "But slowly. Too fast and you'll cause an upset."

"Geeze, Bob," Lester said. "Do you want me to hold the phone closer to Steph so you can listen to her drinking?"

"Shut up, Les," Bobby snapped, as I dutifully took a small gulp of water. "Is Stitch there? What's the temperature looking like?"

"I'd tell you if the patient ever submitted to allow the thermometer under her tongue," Stitch responded in a dead pan tone, eyeing me pointedly.

Bobby actually let out a laugh. "Steph talks too much for that," he said. "Just get her to hold it under her arm. It's less accurate, but it saves having to duct tape her mouth shut while trying to get a reading."

I poked my tongue out at Stitch, who just rolled his eyes and handed me the thermometer to stick under my arm. I knew from previous illnesses that the thermometer needed to touch my skin to work properly, so I started lifting up the hem of the sweatshirt I was wearing to gain access, only to remember that I'd been wearing a sexy dress last night. I froze, looking down at the grey material and the unfamiliar design on the front. "Who's clothes are these?" I asked, looking around the room. "And who put them on me?" I know I wasn't shy about my body, but the thought of one of these guys dressing me wasn't exactly ideal.

"They're mine," Harry explained. "And we got Reese to change you into them. We thought you'd be more comfortable with that than one of us."

My brows shot straight up to hide in my hairline. "You thought I'd be more comfortable with a man I've never met before taking off my clothes and putting new ones on me than if one of you did it?"

All three men's faces screwed up in confusion at my words, and I couldn't understand why until Bobby's voice cut through the silence. "Reese is Harry's sister, Bomber."

"Oh."

* * *

 _ **Fun Fact: Reese being Harry's sister was supposed to be a much more dramatic reveal, because there was supposed to be a confused meeting between Reese and Steph (and Reese's boyfriend) prior to Steph finding out this little nugget. Unfortunately, as is the way with writing, the characters made decisions that meant I had to abandon the longer plan.**_


	41. Chapter 41

_Big things in this chapter. Things you've all been waiting for. Or a glimpse of something you've been waiting for? Uh... know what? I'm gonna let you discover it yourself..._

 **Chapter 41**

The next twenty four hours were hard for me. Not only was I still working through the physical after effects of whatever drug I'd been slipped (Rohypnol confirmed late yesterday afternoon), but the ramifications of what that drug being present in my blood stream meant, and how close I had come to being a rape victim. I was - understandably, I think – shaken. Nothing of this calibre had ever happened to me on a distraction before. Sure, I'd been beaten up on the job a few times, but I'd always come out of a distraction relatively unscathed and feeling as safe as I had at the beginning. That was not the case for this operation. It was a close call on my own safety and I was left wondering who, if anyone, was at fault.

I knew, from various conversations that I'd had and overheard, that they guys that were closest to me friendship-wise wanted to blame themselves. It was always the way with the particular breed of men that tended to be employed by Rangeman. If something went wrong, no matter how far out of their own control the situation was, they found a way to blame themselves. So while there was no way they could go back in time and change, or fix anything to ensure a better outcome, they were sure that there was something they had missed or done wrong.

Bones, the closest in proximity during the event, had apologised for not monitoring my drink more closely. Harry and Hank, who had been out in the van keeping an eye on the surveillance feeds, both apologised for missing the drug slipping moment as well, while Lester, Hal, Stitch and Barrel all spun variations on the theme of forgetting or not thinking to cover the service entrance.

I didn't know how any of the other men felt about what had happened, because I hadn't seen them yet, having been put on lock down in Harry's house while I recovered, but I wouldn't be surprised if at least one of them thought the events were entirely my own doing. And I couldn't find much of a fault in that logic. After all, I had been the one to suggest the distraction and insist on it when I was met with resistance. If it weren't for the decisions I had made, I wouldn't have been in that situation to begin with. I should have listened to the men's concerns. I should have waited until the Musketeers through I was ready for field work.

I should have kept a better eye on my own drink. It had been drilled into me ever since I was old enough to start going out to never let my drink out of my sight. I didn't think I had that night, but there must have been a moment where I'd dropped the ball, because the roofie had to have gotten in there somehow.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked quietly, approaching the couch where I sat. It was mid-morning the day after I'd woken up in Harry's bed and clothes with limited memory of the night before and I was feel physically much better. The aches and nausea had subsided, and my head was much clearer. But with all the spare time I had during my lock down, I couldn't help by replay wat I remembered of the night of the distraction and what the men had told me had happened after the fact over and over in my head. I tried to picture how Hernandez and I had been seated at the bar, the movements he'd made, trying to pinpoint the moment he'd slipped the pill into my drink. It was no use, though, and the more I tried to figure it out, or remember more of the night, the more frustrated I became.

"Fine," I assured him, even though I was acutely aware of the fact that they length of the pause before my reply probably made it obvious I was lying.

"You've been awfully quiet today," he pointed out, taking a seat beside me.

I shrugged, but couldn't quite meet his gaze. "I'm just not a morning person," I excused. "It takes me a while to wake up enough to function as a normal human being."

"True," he conceded, nodding. "I learned pretty quickly to leave you be until almost lunch time once you started working out of the tech office. But it's eleven fifteen. You've usually perked up some by now."

"I'm fine," I tried to assure him again, but I could tell by the look on his face the moment the words left my lips that he wasn't buying it. To be honest, I couldn't really blame him. I'd been sitting in the same spot, barely moving, since breakfast, and anyone wo knows me knows that it was practically impossible to get me to sit still. It was the reason the Merry Men almost always rearranged the roster to avoid putting me on stake outs. Being trapped in a confined space with me for a prolonged period of time was not conducive to deal stake out conditions. Too often I'd proven to be a distraction to the poor guy saddled with me, so they'd all decided to keep me off that particular duty unless it was absolutely necessary.

"You're clearly not fine," Harry said firmly. "You haven't moved or said a word in hours. You've been lost in your own thoughts, which, after the couple of days you've had, is not a good place to be. So please, tell me what's on your mind. I want to help."

I leaned my head back against the back of the cough and sighed. "There's nothing you can help me with."

"Try me."

I rolled my eyes, running a hand through my hair. He'd clearly picked up a few tips and tricks on how to deal with me from Lester and the guys before they'd had to get back to Trenton, because usually when I said I was fine or didn't want to talk about whatever was bothering me, the Musketeers tended to leave it at that. They hadn't yet adapted fully to having a woman in the work place and had obviously decided as a collective to not invoke my wrath or encourage more tears than necessary by pestering me when I was clearly not in the mood to talk about it.

The Merry Men, though, had lived and worked with me long enough to realise that I didn't like _talking_ about my feelings any more than I liked crying in front of people. They had learned that in times of great stress, like when there was a crisis, or when I was truly upset about something, I wasn't likely to start a conversation about it myself. I was more inclined to dwell on it and let it fester in my own head until it all became too much to handle and I snapped. Something that all parties involved wanted to avoid.

As such, the Merry Men had taken to insisting I open p to them when they noticed I was getting stressed. And I'd tried to be more open with them when they employed this method over the years. I didn't know _who_ had tipped Harry off to this technique, or perhaps he'd figured it out entirely on his own, but I had to respect his insistence just like I would have it was Lester or Tank, and acknowledge that if he was this determined to get me to talk about it, then maybe I _did_ need to open up.

I blew out a breath, pulling my knees up until my feet rested on the edge of the couch. Part of me wished Tank was here. He had a way of making me feel so at ease when he knew there was something I needed to get of my chest. Lester always found a way to turn my worries around into something to laugh, or at least smile, about. Bobby always seemed to know the right questions to ask to make me realise my problems weren't as big or dramatic as they may seem. And Ranger, well, he was the master of calm. No matter how upset I got, he was there, rock solid, to support me through it. I would have loved for any one of them to be here right now, but they all had their duties elsewhere. Even Lester had been called back to Trenton last night on account of an anonymous tip that had been received regarding a skip he'd been taking lead on.

For whatever reason, Harry had decided to step up and try to be here for me and if his instincts were as food as the Merry Men's when it came to when I needed to let stuff out of my brain, I should just trust him and go with it.

"I can't stop thinking about it," I said quietly, being sure to avoid looking at him by staring at the high ceiling.

"The night of the distraction?" Harry guessed, and I nodded. "What about it?"

"All of it," I admitted, flopping my hands limply onto the cushions beside me. "Or, as much as I can remember."

"Has anything more come back to you?"

I shook my head. "Not really. I have occasional flashes of something, but none of it is long enough or detailed enough for me to piece together much."

I felt Harry's weight shift on the couch as he turned to face me more. "Does it bother you that you can't remember?" he asked.

What a stupid question that was. "Of course it does," I said, snapping my eyes to him for the first time since he'd entered. "There are whole hours of my life missing, and from what Stitch said, the likelihood of them coming back to me is practically zero. I keep trying to play out what happened after the roofie kicked in. I keep trying to remember if anything _happened_ during that time, but it's not use. All I have to go on is what you guys have told me, but no matter how detailed your descriptions of what happened are, they just don't fit in my head properly. They're not my memories, so they don't fit in the gaps I have."

"Hmm."

I don't now what that was supposed to mean, and he didn't seem to want to elaborate on the sound he'd just made, so I stayed quiet. Stewing. I _knew_ he wouldn't be able to help me. I'd _told_ him as much. This was pointless.

I dropped my feet back down to floor and moved to get up, intending to take my leave of his unhelpful presence, maybe get some fresh air on the roof, but he broke his silence just as I managed to lever myself off the cushions my butt had been glued to since just after breakfast.

"I think I have something that might help," he said, getting to his feet beside me. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

*o*

I was speechless. I hadn't thought that anything could have put all the facts that the guys had spilled in perspective for me. But Harry had found a way. A confronting way. But a way none the less. While he and Hank had been monitoring the security feeds of the bar, Harry had been recording them onto his laptop so that he had the footage for reference later. Little did he know how vital that footage would be in helping me understand just what had happened while I was in there. He started by showing me moment he believed Hernandez had slipped the pill into my drink, admitting that he'd spent a few hours yesterday pouring over it until he'd pin pointed the exact moment. He played it a few times for me just to be sure I caught it, then let me continue with the rest of the night.

Seeing myself stumble and stagger was hard, but I needed to watch the whole thing out. I needed to see what I'd been through with my own eyes and if I couldn't remember it myself, this was the next best thing.

'Best' might have been a poor choice of words, to be honest. I thought I was shaken before, but seeing myself being manhandled by that creep was too much. As Harry switched to the feed from the back alley, explaining as he did so that he'd had retrieve it later, since they hadn't been monitoring it at the time of the distraction, and I saw Hernandez reefing up my dress and trying to get at my panties, the air left my lungs. Bile was rising in my throat. I had to look away.

"I've seen enough," I whispered, just as my knee connected with Hernandez's groin on the screen. "Turn it off, please."

Something in my voice must have alerted Harry to my emotional state, because he quickly hit a button to cut the connection between the laptop and the television screen, pushing the device away so that he was focused entirely on me. I hated that. I didn't want to be the focus of his attention. I wanted to be invisible for a while. I wanted to be able to squash the emotions welling inside me until I was able to speak without that tell-tale quaver in my voice and the prickling behind my eyes.

"Steph?" he asked tentatively, scooching a little closer to me. "Can you talk to me about what's going through your head?"

I shook my head, wrapping my arms around my middle as a sort of last ditch defence. I didn't think our friendship was ready for me to spill _everything_ that was going through my head. There was an awful lot that had gone wrong in the last few months that I couldn't just put in a shoe box in the back of my mind anymore. I had to acknowledge it and the part I had played in it. I had to accept that if things were still going in the wrong direction at this point, then perhaps the problem with my life was not outside forces pushing me in certain directions, or other people treating me ill, perhaps it was me. Maybe I was the problem. I had allowed all this to happen to myself. I could have made moves to put a stop to it at any point, but I hadn't. I'd tried to reason the blame away. Push it on other people.

Maybe my mother had always been right…

"Steph?" Harry repeated. He laid a hand on my arm and I realised I had once again been silent too long to spin a convincing lie.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm myself enough that I wouldn't cry when I spoke, but it seemed to be a futile attempt, because the moment I started to speak, tears were forming in my eyes. "MY life has been spiralling out of control for a while now," I admitted. "I want to believe it's just recent events that are… but if I'm honest with myself it's been on a downwards slope since I caught Dickie on the dining room table with Joyce Barnhardt."

I could tell he was torn between wanting to know who these people were, and not wanting me to go into so many details that I ugly cried all over his furniture, and possibly him. I would have loved to accommodate his need for information, knowing what it was like to be out of the loop and just want to know the lingo you were missing, but I was also afraid that I would get snot everywhere. All I could do was keep going and get all the thoughts out of my head.

"I lost my husband, my dignity, my mother's respect. Then I lost my job, my car, my ability to provide for myself. I blackmailed my cousin into giving me a job at his bail bonds company, which, as it turns out might have been the worst move I've ever made, because instead of getting my life back on track it just kept sinking. I didn't have a steady income. I was living pay check to sporadic pay check. I've been fire bombed more times than I can count. I've killed more cars than is social acceptable. I've been shot, beaten, kidnapped… and come in contact with way too many dead bodies." I pulled my knees up, hugging them to my chest. "And I can't even take solace in the fact that my personal life was doing okay, because it _wasn't_. Still isn't."

I had to stop talking as the lump that was forming in my throat had swollen to the point where getting words past it was nearly impossible. I wanted to tell Harry exactly what was wrong with my personal life. I don't know why I wanted to, but it felt right to tell him. I'd started and it made sense to get through the whole sordid tale.

Trying to calm myself enough to continue, I swallowed a few times and brushed a few errant tears away, but before I could say another word my phone was ringing. It wasn't just any ring tone, though. The batman theme filled the wide open space of the living room and I practically jumped on my phone. There was only one person this could possibly be, and it didn't matter how upset I was right now. If there was a chance I could hear that deep, calming voice, I was going to take it.

"Hello?" I gasped, pressing the phone to my ear and wiping more of the moisture from my face.

"Babe," he responded. He sounded tired. I had no idea what he'd been doing the last few weeks, but it must have been exhausting. "How are you?"

I had to sniff back some snot that was trying to escape at that exact moment, which was bound to undermine the lie I was inclined to tell. He was on a mission and didn't need to be worrying about my wellbeing. It was that kind of thing that could lead a person to distraction in the field and end up getting them hurt, or worse. "I'm okay," I told him. "What about you? How are you able to call me? Are you done with your mission?"

"Not quite. Just have a couple of days, waiting for some things to fall into place. Thought I'd call and check in." There was a beat of silence and I thought, for a moment, that he was going to leave it at that, but he surprised me by continuing to talk. He wasn't a chatty person, so either he was more tired than I'd ever seen, or he was genuinely interested in how my life was going. "Tank tells me you're working at the Boston office now?"

"Yeah," I said. "I needed to get away from Trenton for a while. Things with Joe got a little worse and the Burg was being-"

"The Burg?" he supplied and I could almost hear the hint of a smile on his face.

I could feel his inherent sense of calm trickling down my spine even with the probably thousands of miles between us. "Pretty much," I agreed. It felt good to speak to someone who just understood the problem with my past. I'd tried explaining to Harry, but there was just _so much_ of it that the more I tried to explain what was wrong with my life, the more I realised that there was just too much to summarise.

"How are you finding it up there?"

"It's-" I glanced at Harry, who was still seated beside me on the couch, but had found something to busy himself on his laptop. I shouldn't be worried about what he thinks of my opinion of the branch, I decided. I had been nothing but honest with him until this point, so what I was about to say wasn't going to be news to him. "-interesting. Different. There's definitely a different dynamic."

"Hard to argue with you there," Ranger agreed. "They don't really fit the other offices, but they work remarkably well together. I had my doubts about some of the personalities Hugh wanted to hire at first, but they're hard workers."

"Mmm," I mmmed. He was right about that. There were definitely some quirky personalities that grated on me, but when it came down to crunch time they were all business.

"Have they been treating you right?" he asked. For once Ranger was the one leading the conversation. I was barely keeping up. Talk about role reversal. I didn't even know that Ranger was capable of keeping small talk going.

"There were a few hiccoughs at the beginning, but I think we're all on the same page now," I said. "Between myself and threats from the Merry Men we ironed things out. It's been an exercise in compromise. I've had to learn some new skills and work on some old skills and, well, just persuade a lot of people to see my point of view."

"Which I'm sure you did superbly," Ranger praised. "You always have. So if it's my men that have you in the dumps you can tell them that I'll meet their asses on the mats as soon as-"

"It's not the men," I interrupted. "They've been difficult, but they've had their reasons. It's-," I took a breath, glanced at Harry, who now had one earphone in and was staring at his screen intently, and dove right in to explaining the distraction, the events leading up to it and the ultimate outcome. It was difficult to talk through now that I'd seen it all play out. Reciting facts was one thing, but I'd watched it all, reconciling the men's facts with my own interpretation of what I could see playing out before me. And the fact that I still had no memory of the time for myself was daunting. I had to stop just before I got to the bit where Hernandez took me into the back alley, because that lump was back, preventing the words from coming out.

"Did he hurt you?" Ranger seethed. "Did he do anything to you?"

"No," I assured him as firmly as I could through the tears I was trying to suppress. "He pulled up my dress and… and tried to, um-"

He swore under his breath and I could almost feel the rage wafting down the phone connection. For some reason his anger made me feel a little better. I'm sure the men here were angry that this had happened, but all I'd seen was the soft tip toing around me as they treated me with kid gloves. They were patient and thoughtful and caring, but not one of them had shown me any anger or frustration that they might be feeling. Anger was one emotion that I could deal with easily. It felt better to be angry than scared or upset or anything else that I'd been feeling the last twenty four hours.

"When I get back there-"he started to say, but a loud sound banging in the background on his end cut him off. "Babe, I have to go," he said hastily. "I'm sorry to cut off the conversation at such an emotion heavy point, but something's come up. You'll get through this, though. Let the guys support you. I'll call you as soon as I can."

And just like that he was gone. The connection severed. All the emotions that had been simmering away in my chest as I tried to explain as calmly as possible what had happened so as not to cause Ranger any more distress than necessary finally spilled over as I let the phone drop to the coffee table in front of me. Tears were streaming down my face, my shoulders were heaving with gut wrenching sobs and all I could think of to do was drop my head into my hands and let it happen.

I don't know how long I sat there, slowly deflating as I let everything I'd been keeping inside flow out of me, but I was beginning to understand what Mary-Lou had once told me about the benefits of a good cry every now and then. My tears in no way made anything better that was for sure. It didn't change the past, it got me no closer to facing my problems, but as more and more time passed, I began to feel lighter. My sobs had significantly lessened and I was just starting to emerge from my tiny hand cave when there was a whoosh of something soaring over my head. I ducked slightly, afraid something else might follow and hit me this time, but nothing did. As I slowly straightened, turning to Harry to ask what was going on, I found him attempting to disentangle himself from what appeared to be a grey hooded sweatshirt.

"What-" I started to ask, but he cut me off.

"This is going to sound crazy," he said, readjusting his beanie, which had obviously been displaced by the garment of clothing as it hit him. "but, put this sweater on."

I just stared. What on earth was going on?

He sighed, holding the sweater out closer to me. "It's a Reese thing. She buys people these ridiculous sweaters, and then when they're upset her solution is to have the person put said sweater on."

"Why?"

"She says everyone always feel better when they're wearing a sweatshirt," Harry explained, looking like this entire conversation was making him more uncomfortable than my breakdown had.

"Does she make you do it?" I asked.

He nodded solemnly.

"Does it work?"

With a glance toward the stairs by the entrance to the living room, he reluctantly replied, "Yes." So I took the soft fabric off his hands and pulled it on over my head, looking down to check out the design on the front as I straightened it out. _"Peanut Butter is Cheaper Than Therapy,"_ it said on the front, and I had to laugh, because it was true, and also summed up my reliance on peanut better pretty succinctly.

* * *

 ** _See guys!? So much EXCITEMENT for this chapter! Ranger! And that scene at the end that's been written since 1st April this year. Yes, I know the exact date. I even know that it was written in it's most basic form at about 11.30 at night. Why? Because I wanted to share with you that most basic form so that you could experience a little sneak peak at Harry and Reese's relationship:_**

Steph having a break down in the living room, Harry trying to comfort her (BTW: I had no idea what would cause Steph to break down when I wrote this):

Reese: *standing in the door way*  
Reese: *whistles softly to grab Harry's attention*  
Harry: *glances over his shoulder*  
Reese: *Holds up a new sweater*  
Harry: *shakes his head*  
Reese: *Nods*  
Harry: *Shakes his head more emphatically*  
Reese: *Chucks the sweater at him*  
Steph:* looking up at the sudden whoosh of hair and the slight flailing as Harry disentangles* What-  
Harry: This is gonna sound crazy, but put this sweater on.  
Steph: *perplexed*  
Harry: *Sigh* It's Reese's thing. She buys people these ridiculous sweaters and then when they're upset her solution is to have the person put said sweater on  
Steph: Why?  
Harry: She says everyone always feels better when they're wearing a sweatshirt.  
Steph: Does she make you do it?  
Harry: *nods solemnly*  
Steph: Does it work?  
Harry: *reluctantly because he knows Reese is listening* Yes  
Steph: *Puts on sweatshirt and looks down at the slogan*


	42. Chapter 42

_Here. Have a bonus chapter because I was sent home sick from work this morning. (Headache and nausea is not what you want to have on a bus trip with children)._

 **Chapter 42**

It took two whole days of nagging and pestering, and generally being the most annoying house guest of all time, but I eventually managed to convince Harry to take me back to Rangeman. I'd been going insane, wandering around his house. There were only so many movies and games of solitaire a woman could sit through, and given that neither Netflix nor Harry and Reese's extensive DVD collection had Ghostbusters on offer, I needed to get out. I felt like I was canary locked in a cage.

After a further examination of the security footage Harry had saved, and one two hour long conversation with Reese who, as it turns out, is a psychologist, I was feeling a lot better about what had happened. I knew that it could have been much, much worse. I could have actually been raped, or maimed, or abducted or any number of unspeakable things. I was just lucky that I had a team of trained security specialists keeping an eye on me. I'd had time enough to process this, and then some, and was ready to get on with my life. The longer I waited about in this enforced limbo, the more likely I was develop some kind of anxiety about getting back to work and future field work.

It was actually Reese that eventually convinced her brother to let me go back.

So, on Tuesday morning, I was up at the crack of about-an-hour-after-dawn and ready to get to work. Harry, unfortunately, was a little slower, going about his morning at a leisurely pace. Sipping coffee, reading the paper with a spoonful of cereal hovering in front of his mouth, doing the washing up by hand.

"Come on," I groaned as he took yet another slow sip of his second coffee. He was doing it deliberately to taunt me. I knew because I'd tried to tag along with him yesterday morning and he'd barely had time to tell me no before he was shoving a half-assed piece of toast in his mouth and racing out the door. I'd been so annoyed, I'd ended up cleaning up the mess he'd left in the kitchen, which was unlike me.

"It's still early," Harry pointed out, glancing up from his phone where he'd been checking emails. "If we leave now, not only will be caught in traffic for half an hour, but we'll be super early for work."

I glared at him. "Yesterday you were literally running out of the house at this exact time," I pointed out.

"That's because I have a weekly training session with Mungo on a Monday morning," Harry explained easily. "I had to get to work earlier. Today, neither of us needs to be in that building for another hour and a half. Relax. Take it slow. Find your centre. Once you're back in, you're expected to be at full running capacity. That means your searches, the gun range, the gym. Enjoy your last moments of freedom."

"Freedom?" I questioned incredulously, leaning against the kitchen counter. "I've been trapped here for three days now."

I hadn't meant it as an insult or a dig at him, but clearly I hadn't thought too hard about what I was actually saying. A point that I recognised the moment Harry's relaxed, joking expression fell, to be replaced a millisecond later by that blasted blank mask. I'd hurt his feelings with my careless comment, and being a man, he didn't want me to know. But I was practiced at recognising emotions that were trying to hide, and unfortunately for him, he wasn't as quick with the blank face as others were.

"Sorry. I didn't mean -," I tried to back pedal my foot out of my mouth. "I just - I appreciate you allowing me to stay here while I came to terms with what happened. I just have never been very good at waiting around, or staying in when I've been told to. Ranger once tried to send me to a safe house when I was targeted by a gang, but I refused. So he told me to stay in the Rangeman building. I couldn't even do that. I think it comes from my mom being so overbearing my entire life. I've been rebelling against her for as long as I can remember."

"It's fine," Harry assured me, though his face was still blank. I wasn't sure whether my rambling apology-slash-explanation had done anything to repair the damage of my previous statement, but it would be too awkward to ask. The best I could do was make sure I didn't do it again. Harry was one of the only guys in Boston that I thought I could genuinely class as a friend. I didn't want to do anything to jeopardise that. "I need to put a load of washing on," he said, placing his now empty mug in the sink and heading toward the stairs. "Give me ten minutes and we'll be on our way."

*o*

Half an hour later we had one very silent, very awkward drive behind us as we exited the SUV in the Rangeman parking garage. We were both quick to exit the vehicle, eager to escape the tension that had been growing between us since my mouth took on a mind of it's own. I was already planning on taking the elevator if he chose the stairs and vice versa so that we wouldn't have to travel any further in tandem, but as I made my way slowly across the garage (to contrast with Harry's power walking), my phone started emitting the funeral march that I had set Hawk and Hugh's numbers to. I should have predicted something like this happening.

"Yo," I greeted Hawk as I hit the call button for the elevator, Harry having disappeared into the stairwell moments ago.

"Welcome back," he said pleasantly. "I hope you're feeling better."

"Much better," I confirmed.

"Glad to hear it. I'm sure you want to get stuck into the files that are no doubt waiting in your inbox, but Hugh would like to see you in his office to debrief on last Friday evening."

I rolled my eyes. I _definitely_ should have expected this to happen. There was absolutely no way Hugh would let me continue with my life with just the natural consequences that occurred as a result of my eagerness to delve into this distraction. Probably, I was about to get a full on lecture. "I'll be there in a minute or two," I sighed and promptly hung up. No point staying on the line when I'd see him as soon as I reached the control room anyway.

He met me at the elevator when the doors opened and took a moment to question my wellbeing once again before leading me down the hall to Hugh's office. He knocked only once on the door frame, not even bothering to wait for an acknowledgement to enter.

"Stephanie," Hugh greeted, looking better than usual. His usual pallor was absent and he didn't seem to have quite as much baggage under the eyes. He looked well rested and, dare I say, even relaxed. I didn't know whether that was a good sign or not. I'd never seen him looking so… healthy. "Please, take a seat. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I replied without hesitation. "Ready to get back to work."

"I'm glad to hear it," he replied pleasantly. "But before you do, I think it would be prudent to debrief a little. How do you feel Friday night's distraction went?"

I looked from Hugh to Hawk and back. Surely by now they knew just how botched the mission had been. It's not like you could hide that kind of occurrence in a debriefing. He'd probably been subjected to a hour of complaining from the men that I'd knowing put myself in danger and they refused to ever do it again. Taking a deep breath in, I focused on Hugh's piercing gaze and told him the truth. "Honestly, it was one of the worst experiences I've ever had within Rangeman," I told him. Something about his current demeanour was calming enough for me to feel at ease admitting to my mistakes, so I went on. "I think I was too eager to open the men's minds to the new method of apprehension and may have rushed the process of preparation a little. Not just the men's preparation for the new situation, but my own preparedness for the field."

Hugh's eyes widened in surprise as he reached for his coffee cup. "You agree that you aren't ready for field work?" he questioned.

I nodded solemnly. "With the Boston crew at the very least," I explained. "With the Trenton guys they are aware of my limitations in the field and work to compensate for them. Being that I am largely unfamiliar to the Boston men, and that this kind of job was unfamiliar to them, there was a gap between where my skills end and where the men's perception of where my skills should be begin." I paused to let that sink in, not that I think he needed any time to make the realisation. It was more for my own benefit. I'd already realised that I needed more training, but I now had a compelling argument for it in my recent memory. I didn't want to repeat the experience from the weekend ever again. "I'm committed to getting the training I need in order to pass the field readiness test before I take part in another job," I declared.

"That's good to hear," Hawk said quietly. "But what occurred over the weekend was not entirely your fault. I was pushing for this distraction job just as much as you were. And it was the men and I who failed to recognise that back service exit as a potential escape route to be covered. Everyone involved dropped the ball in some way, not just you."

"That's kind of you to say," I expressed. "But I'll still be working on my field readiness before I join anyone in the field in any capacity."

"What about your work on system installs with Harry?" Hugh asked.

At the mention of his name, Harry's hurt expression from this morning cross my mind. I'd really stuck my foot in my mouth with that one comment. I hadn't been thinking about anything other than getting back to some kind of normalcy and as a result had failed to consider how my generous host would take my words.

Taking a deep breath and pushing those thoughts aside for later, I said, "I'm learning a lot from Harry and would like to continue with the installs with your permission. I know that I am technically in the field during these jobs, but given that they aren't bond enforcement situations and there is no chase and capture involved, I think it should be okay. If you agree."

Hugh and Hawk exchanged a brief glance that was full of unspoken communication before Hawk spoke. "Provided you continue to work hard in your sessions with Barrel and Mungo, we see no problem with you continuing to assist Harry with installs," he explained. "Field readiness is a process of constant improvement, but we would hope that in a few weeks' time you would be able to pass the most basic level of readiness, which would allow you to join a team in the field. You would not be an active member of the team at that point, rather an extra set of eyes and ears. This would allow you to continue your mentor work with the men in the unconventional take down techniques."

"That sounds reasonable," I agreed.

"In the meantime, please make sure you are communicating with the men about your mental state following the events of the weekend. Many of our men are trained to recognise symptoms of post-traumatic stress. I assume, given your stay at Harry's the past few days, that you have had a good chat with Reese, but if you feel the need to talk further, please don't hesitate to contact the Rangeman psychologist, Greg. His number should be in your phone."

I nodded again, not sure what else I could say at this point. They were being awfully supportive when I'd expected a lengthy lecture. It was like someone had flicked a switch over the weekend and the Hugh I knew was replaced by this Life Model Decoy. This wasn't he Boston management I knew. I was unprepared to deal with this in this setting. If I'd been back home, the men probably would have coddled me so much that I would have gotten back to work and out on the streets sooner just spite them, or perhaps show that I was fine, stronger than ever. But with Hawk's instructions about taking care of my mental health, and the easy compromise we'd come to over my field readiness just now were a kindness that I almost didn't know how to deal with.

"Do you have any questions?" Hugh asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

 _None I want to voice out loud right now_ , I thought. Most of the questions I had pertained to how it was that Hugh had managed to do a complete 180 health and attitude wise in the three days I'd been absent from the building. "Not at the moment," I said, shaking my head.

"Okay, then," he nodded. "I think we're done here. If you do think of anything you need to ask, you know where to find me."

That I did. And I knew I should have accepted this as my cue to leave, but my big mouth had other ideas. "Wait, so you're _not_ going to lecture me?" I blurted.

"Why would I lecture you?" Hugh asked.

"Friday night? The FUBAR'd distraction job? My over eagerness?"

"I think you've suffered enough consequences from Friday night, don't you?" he pointed out. "I may have been harsh on your when you suggested the idea, but I just wanted to make sure you were thinking it all through. And you did. You ensured that there were experienced men there to lead the operation. Men that you were comfortable with watching your back when you were in such a vulnerable situation. You ran drills with all the men prior to the job. From what I understand you have been incredibly fortunate to never have encountered a target slipping anything into you drink before, therefore it would not have been a major concern in your preparation as something to look out for. In saying that, hindsight is 20-20, and I'm sure you'll be sure to include it in all future considerations. Perhaps you can explore some methods of detecting drinking spiking."

Astonished, the only thing I could manage to do was nod. He was right. Everything he said was right. And, having lead a very active life on the club scenes in college, I knew how to protect my drink. And these days there were all sorts of things you could do to prevent and detect drink spiking.

"Thank you," I said, still having a hard time grappling with this new Hugh.

"I have to look after my employees," Hugh said solemnly. "A task I realised I've been neglecting with you. I've been trying to treat you like any other new recruit, forgetting that you have the experience that you do. You're not some noob. You just don't necessarily have to the same level of physical skills that someone in your position is expected to have in this company. And your intuition, from what I've heard, is phenomenal."

"Uh, thanks," I said again.

"You should be getting back to work," Hawk said, standing from his chair. "I have it on good authority that you're not very good at being on house arrest, so you're probably itching to dive back in."

I nodded, standing and joining him as he made his way out the door, pausing only to shoot one last thank you over my shoulder. Hawk accompanied me all the way to the elevator once more and was still by my side as I waited for it to arrive. I figured now was my chance to voice the main question on my mind after that bizarre meeting.

"Is Hugh on drugs?" I asked.

Hawk, thankfully, laughed. But after only a few moments he sobered and held my gaze firmly in his. "Yes, he is."

"WHAT?!"

He shook his head. "Relax," he laughed, softer this time. "He's just on new medication to manage his condition. It seems to be working, don't you think?"

"It's like he's had a personality transplant," I agreed.

* * *

 _ **I still have 1.75 more chapters written, so you will still be getting a chapter this weekend as well. Hope you are all well.**_


	43. Chapter 43

_Your weekly update has arrived! I have one more chapter prewritten, which I believe is just enough to get us to the end of the year. Rest assured, though, I have been working hard on this story, and that last update for the year will be a moderately long one, and I'm sure I'll find at least_ some _time in the next two weeks I have off in order to write more._

 **Chapter 43**

The next week working out of the same space as Harry were super awkward. It was clear that my words had hit him hard. Every time I passed through tech lab to or from my own office a million opening lines swirled through my head, but they all sounded so lame. Nothing I could say now would take back the biting words I'd uttered under the stress of being kept in one place against my will. Part of me felt that he was being overly sensitive about it. I mean, _I_ was the one who'd been through an ordeal. But the other part of me knew that it didn't matter the circumstances, his feelings were hurt and I needed to find a way to fix things. The problem was, I had no idea how to do such a thing.

Never before in my life had I encountered a man who had taken my words to heart enough to be offended by them. I'd had screaming matches with Morelli. _God, so many_. I'd had stand offs with Ranger. But this was all new territory.

Staring at the results popping up on the computer screen from my latest search, I leaned back in my chair only to straighten again when something dug into my back. A moment of groping behind me revealed the object to be a peg. _Another_. _Fucking. Clothespin._ And it wasn't even the only one currently attached to the back of my shirt. I _knew_ that it had been clear when I put it on this morning. And there hadn't been anything on it when I'd been sitting at my desk this morning. Which means my shirt had acquired six extra pegs some time during the three hours I spent out of my office. I'd been in my gym clothes for gym with Mungo, but the shirt had been devoid of pegs when I'd put it back on after my shower. That narrowed it down to my time in the gun range with Barrel, and my time on the fifth floor when I checked in with a couple of the guys who were working on cases I was helping out with.

It seemed that every time I left my office, I returned to it, or my apartment with more pegs attached to my person. I had no doubt the men were responsible for this. The only problem was, I couldn't for the life of me figure out why. Or how they managed to attach the clothespins to my clothes without my noticing. I shouldn't be surprised. Ranger did always say I needed to be more aware of my surroundings. Maybe this would be motivation enough for me to finally heed his advice.

Swiping the clothespins off the desk and into the bottom drawer with the rest of my ever growing collection, I leaned back in my chair, resting my head on the top of the back rest. A yawn escaped me as I reached up to rub a hand over my face. Between the toll the events of the weekend had taken on my body, Mungo's refusal to show any form of mercy in our sessions and the fact that my sleep had been plagued by nightmares since returning to the Rangeman building, exhaustion was setting in.

No amount of pleading could convince Mungo to take it easy on me, or better yet, give me the day off. No amount of sleep helped the shadows forming under my eyes. And no matter what measures I took to ensure a peaceful night's sleep, I was still tormented by horrible visions the moment I drifted off.

I'd tried everything: sleepy time tea, yoga, relaxation music, whale songs, eliminating junk food from my diet (just in the evenings, though, I wasn't a complete maniac), visualisation, warm milk, and even writing out the details when I woke up from the dream. While the latter allowed me to calm down enough to fall back to sleep for the few hours that I had left before my alarm, none of the methods I'd tried prevented the scenes returning the next time I closed my eyes.

It was a miracle I'd made it through the week alive.

A ding from the computer alerted me to the fact that the search had finished. The effort of sitting up in order to attend to the machine's needs caused a groan to squeeze out of my lungs. My energy, now that the hard work was finished, was dwindling quickly. Unfortunately, I still had at least a couple of hours until it would be acceptable for me to call it a day. Two hours of staring, probably unseeingly, at the computer screen. A yawn bubbled up as I clicked to download the last link on the results page, and it was that yawn that prompted me to decide to knock off early. If anyone asked, I could always use my mental health as an excuse.

Probably, I needed to take some time for my mental health anyway, so it wasn't even like I was lying when I sent off a quick message to Hawk to let him know that I was leaving work early to have some me time. Not waiting for his approval, or disapproval, I shut down my computer, tidied my desk, and made my way upstairs.

The moment I entered my apartment I knew exactly what I needed: Ghostbusters. And lucky for me, it was already loaded into the DVD player, because I'd already watched it three times this week. Kicking off my shoes, and stripping out of the cargo pants that were great for function, but in no way ideal for curling up on the couch in, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge along with a cookie from the container on the bench, and settled in for a hundred and seven minutes of ghost busting goodness.

Unsurprisingly, I fell asleep at some point during my beloved movie, only jolting awake as the credits were rolling. I'd done this enough times in the past that I assumed that I'd just woken naturally like I usually did, but as I stretched out my limbs, I realised my phone was ringing somewhere in the apartment.

Stumbling to my feet, I went in search of that somewhere, discovering it to be the pocket of the black cargo pants I had dumped in the entrance way of my apartment upon arriving home. It took a few moments to locate, followed by another moment to extricate the device from the fabric, by which time it had stopped it's ruckus. I had the presence of mind to register that it was the tone I'd allocated to Bobby's number – "Doctor Jones" by Aqua – just as I caught sight of the corresponding name on the display.

I didn't hesitate in calling him back. Nor was I surprised when he answered on the first ring. "You rang?" I said as the call connected.

"Yeah, just checking in to see how you're doing," Bobby explained.

I glanced over my shoulder to the microwave in the kitchen. "Is it five-fifteen already?" I asked, spying the glowing numbers and wondering how it could be that two and a half hours had passed since I'd made the decision to leave work early. Maybe I'd spent longer tidying up before I left than I thought.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is," Bobby confirmed. "Not that it has any significance at all to the conversation. And don't try to use this as a way out of the conversation."

"You've called me at five-fifteen every day this week, Bobby," I pointed out. "Like clockwork."

I heard him scoff on the other end of the line. "That's not true," he said. Which was right, since on Tuesday he'd had Lester call me instead because he was in the middle of delicately – or not so delicately, I can't be sure – repositioning Ram's shoulder back into its rightful socket. "Anyway, no amount of pursuing this time concept you have is going to distract me from the fact that I called to ask how you are."

I sighed. There was no point in avoiding the topic. "Tired," I admitted. "Sleep has been disrupted. And gym work has been intense."

"Dreams?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Have you tried –"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," I interrupted, picking up my pants and carrying them to the hamper in the bedroom. "The answer is yes. I have tried everything but drugs to get to sleep without reliving the nightmares my subconscious seems hell bent on playing every night."

Bobby hummed a sound of consideration in my ear. "Have you spoke to Stitch about it? He may have-"

Interrupting him again on an almost growl, I said, "I don't need drugs."

"That's a good stance to have," he agreed. "But if it gets too bad, promise me that you'll talk to Stitch about it. And-"

I sighed. We were now in the exact same conversation we'd had every day this week. "Bobby," I said, stabbing a hand through my curls to get them off my face. "I love you. And I love that you care so much. But there's only so many times I can assure you that I'll get professional help if I need it before I start to think that you think there's something wrong with me."

"You could always follow up on the subject of the dreams?" he suggested, clearly changing the subject to avoid my continued ire. "I assume they're about the distraction. Maybe finding out what happened with the skip will help calm your mind enough for you to sleep peacefully."

That was a good idea, but the botched distraction job wasn't the only thing playing on my mind in those dreams. I relived the moments I'd seen on the security footage over and over with varying end results, yes, but there were also whole dreams devoted Harry's hurt expression when I'd said that stupid line about being a prisoner on Tuesday morning. I wasn't sure which was worse. The terror of trying to fend off Hernandez with limbs that felt like they were dragging through sludge, or the fact that I didn't know what the persistence of Harry's presence in my dream and the fact that I woke up just as breathless as with the former. While the Hernandez dream was like go through a fresh circle of hell every time, the uncertainty of what the Harry dream meant had my chest constricting.

"Steph?" Bobby's voice called. "You still there?"

Mentally slapping myself for zoning out, I assured him that I was still present and definitely okay, finishing up, just as my stomach growled ominously. "I should probably go and organise food before I'm eaten alive by my own stomach," I said. "Give my love to the guys."

"I won't," Bobby said petulantly. "You don't express love enough for me to be willing to share what little you hand over to me. I'll be keeping this love in a shoebox under my bed."

A chuckle escaped me before I could stop it. "That's creepy, Bobby," I pointed out. "Super creepy."

"If you weren't so stingy with your affections I wouldn't need to hoard them all for myself," he responded, even though we all knew I wasn't _that_ stingy with my feelings. Was I?

Before I could let my mind tease the concept out any more, Bobby was signing off and I was navigating through my phone to the Rangeman Boston Social App. There was still half an hour before all those travelling to Uncle Suzan's for dinner would be gathering in the parking garage downstairs, and I was hoping that the app didn't have an earlier cut off time, because there was no way I was going to allow myself to attempt to cook something in my current state of exhaustion. I needed food. I did _not_ need to burn down the building because I fell asleep with the oven going.

A soft whimper of relief escaped me as I successfully signed up to tonight's outing but a few seconds later a notification popped up with my buddy and car allocation and my relief was washed away.

* * *

 ** _Since this is the last update before Christmas, I hope you all have a very merry and relaxed christmas if you celebrate it._**


	44. Chapter 44

_Okay. So it's only Friday night here in Oz, but I can't wait any longer. I need to get this chapter out to you all._

 **Chapter 44**

The garage was brimming with men when I arrived, which, in my experience, was typical of a Friday night. More men turned out at the end of the week than at the beginning. Standing by the elevator, I rose up on my tip-toes, trying to spot my appointed buddy in the sea of black clad muscles from a distance. It wasn't that I was trying to avoid him. That would have been impossible, given the carpooling structure of this system. But if I could delay being in his presence until we were trapped in a vehicle with two to three others, then maybe we could avoid an awkward conversation.

"Alrighty!" Yetti called out of the chatter before I'd managed to scan half the crowd. "We're gonna get going in a couple minutes. Does everyone have their buddy?" A low murmur rose as all the guys checked that their buddy was still present. I continued searching the faces I could see. "Anyone's buddy missing?"

More murmuring from the men, but I still hadn't spotted my buddy. Slowly, I raised my hand. It was entirely possible that he'd seen who his buddy was and changed his mind about coming. I wouldn't blame him, to be honest.

"Steph can't find her buddy," Tree called out from a few feet away. Quieter, he asked. "Who's your buddy?"

"Harry," I croaked, almost not able to get the name out. "My buddy is Harry."

"Anyone seen Harry?" Tree called out.

"He probably forgot again," someone from across the crowd called back.

"It's his own app!" Someone else pointed out. "Shouldn't he be able to use it better?"

"I'll call him," Tree informed me, ignoring the shouts still bouncing around the group. A minute passed while Tree pressed his phone to his ear and the general chatter of earlier resumed. Meanwhile, my heart was racing. I'd been nervous upon finding out my buddy, because it meant we would have to be in closer proximity than we had been since returning to work on Tuesday, and I wasn't sure how well I could act like nothing was wrong. We may be carpooling with others, and therefore able to avoid having to fill the air with small talk or awkward silence, but those others were highly trained in the art of detecting when someone's actions were off, and given the easy friendship Harry and I had up until this point, I had no doubt that our tension would be noticed almost immediately. The only reason it hadn't been so far this week was because Harry and I hadn't been seen in the same vicinity. No one had come to the lab, and we'd been careful to avoid each other outside of it. Or at least, I had been. I couldn't speak for Harry's decisions, conscious or unconscious.

"He's not picking up," Tree informed me.

"Probably gotten absorbed in some project," Shock mentioned. "Doesn't realise what time it is."

"You should check the lab," Lock added.

I nodded, swallowing hard. "Right," I wheezed.

"Are you okay?" Tree asked. "You're not getting sick, are you?"

 _Sick with worry? Yes._ But I wasn't about to admit that to these men. "Just a bit of a throat thing," I lied. "I'll go see if I can lure Harry away from his work."

*o*

I took the stairs to the third floor, trying to delay my arrival as much as possible. I felt bad for holding up the men waiting downstairs, but I was just not that brave at the moment.

When I eventually reached the door to the lab it was closed, exactly how I'd left it a couple of hours ago, but I could hear the feint murmur of Harry's voice within, letting me know that he was, indeed, still inside. Taking a deep, somewhat steadying breath, I turned the handle and pushed the door open. What met my gaze, as I focused on the scene beyond the doorway gave me pause.

When I'd left him this afternoon, Harry had been hunched over his computer typing at a furious speed, his eyes darting left and right, but never beyond the screen. Now, however, was a stark difference. Not only was Harry not sitting at a work bench like usual, he wasn't standing or walking. He was, in fact, dancing. His hips swivelling and head bobbing as he hummed along to whatever song was being piped into his ears via the headphones he wore.

Stifling a giggle, I made my way across the space, intending to round the other side of the bench he was working at to announce my presence, but I'd only taken a couple of steps when he spun around, reaching for something on a different table. He froze, eyes wide, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Steph!" he said. "I-…" But he didn't finish his sentence. Instead, he reefed his headphones off, gripping them tightly in his hand as he clumsily clicked something on his laptop. Finally, he raised his gaze to me, and it was hard to miss the scarlet blush spreading across his cheeks. "Any chance we can pretend you didn't see that?" he asked, adjusting his ever present hat.

I laughed, despite the tension still holding onto my body. "You wiggling you hips enthusiastically?" I asked. "Not sure I'll be able to wipe it from my memory."

Harry groaned, dragging his hat down to cover his face. "Steph, please!" he moaned.

Embracing this distinct lack of wall between us, I stepped forward, intending to get a look at his laptop screen and asked, "What were you listening to?"

His head snapped up, eyes, as wide as dinner plates. "N-nothing," he said, which we both knew was a big fat lie. No one has headphones on but dances to the tune of silence. I took another step forward and his gaze snapped to the laptop screen, a hand following half a second after to slam it shut.

"Okay," I conceded, feeling more confident in his presence than I had all week. "You can keep your secrets for now, but rest assured, I _will_ find out eventually."

At my semi-threat, Harry sagged against the counter top, a low, anguished sound squeezing from his lungs, like a deflating set of bagpipes. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at him again.

"Now that we've established your blackmail material," Harry said, head still lowered. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Actually, yes," I said. "The guys are all downstairs waiting to go. I was sent to find you. You're my buddy."

"Go?" he asked, slowly raising his head, a furrow creasing his brow. "Buddy?"

"Dinner at Uncle Suzan's?" I pointed out gently. "I only decided to go at the last minute, but luckily the app didn't reject me. It paired us together."

"Dinner at…" Harry trailed off, picking up his phone and staring at the screen for a full minute, eyes wide. "I, uh… didn't realise what the, um, time was…" he trailed off again, either having lost the thread of his sentence or decided that it would be better to just do it than talk about it. As he went about closing his computer and packing away the tools he had on his bench, he appeared to be silently berating himself, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. I didn't like the look of that. Was that how I looked when I was telling myself how much of an idiot I'd been? If so, I was never going to do that again in public. And I needed to put a stop to Harry's right now.

"So, Harry," I said as he turned away from me to slide a drawer closed. "About Tuesday. I just wanted to apologise."

"Apologise for what?" he asked, but it wasn't the expectant tone I'd expected. Instead his brow held a confused furrow as he crossed back to the bench.

"For what I said," I said quickly. "I didn't mean it. I was just –"

Harry held up his hand making a slowdown gesture between us. "Woah, woah, woah. What are you talking about? What did you say that you think you need to apologise for?"

I felt like I'd just been pushed under at the local swimming pool. The air in my lungs was not enough to sustain me as I attempted to swim to the surface and find out what was actually going on.

"What?"

His furrow deepened. "What do you mean _'what?'_ "

"What do _you_ mean you don't know what I'm talking about?!" I retorted. "Isn't it the reason we've been avoiding each other all week?"

If it was at all possible, Harry appeared even more confused by my question than he was embarrassed by being caught dancing when I came in. "We've been avoiding each other?"

Just when I thought I'd breached the surface of my metaphorical swimming pool, I was pulled back under before I could catch a breath. Not only that, I'd been thrown into some kind of sadistic washing machine manoeuvre, being spun around under the water until I no longer new which way was up. All week long, I'd been moping in my little office, or tip toing around Harry as I came and went because I thought he was still made at me for my prisoner comment, but if he was to be believed, he didn't even recall it.

"I-I thought," I stammered. "Weren't you offended when I accused you of holding me prisoner in your home?"

And just like that it was as if a light had been switched on behind his eyes. Understanding dawned on his face like the sun returning after a storm. Beautiful and welcome. "Ooohhhhh…." He uttered, jaw hanging wide after the sound had stopped as he stared at me and fidgeted with his hat some more. "Steph," he whispered, kicking the hat back so far that it almost fell off as he tugged on a lock of his blonde hair. "I was offended at first, year, but it only lasted about five minutes."

"The drive to work was twenty minutes of awkward silence," I pointed out flatly. "And you haven't so much as spared me a passing glance in the four days since."

"Okay," he conceded. "It only lasted about twenty five minutes, then, because as soon as I got to the lab and I took a moment to really reflect on what had happened, I realised that all you were doing was expressing how you felt in the situation. I remembered that you aren't known for being good at sitting still, and have never been a fan of being told what to do. I realised that the distraction probably had you more shook than you probably realised. I realised you weren't accusing me, you were just frustrated and I couldn't blame you or be offended by it, because I would have reacted exactly the same, if not worse."

"But-"

"As for the rest of the week," he continued, not letting me voice my protest any further. "I've spent every waking moment troubleshooting this one line of code that's gone awry in this new app that Halfred's developing."

"Halfred?" I asked. I was pretty sure I hadn't met a Halfred since I'd been here in Boston. Surely I would have remembered a name like that.

Harry shook his head. "Unimportant," he assured me. "Point is, I wasn't avoiding you, and I'm sorry that I made you think I was mad at you."

"You-"

I didn't get to finish my sentence this time either, because at that moment the lab door burst open and Tree stepped over the threshold. "Oh good," he said, eyes travelling from me to Harry and back. "You're both here. Get your asses down to the garage so we can finally get this show on the road." And, like always, my stomach took it's cue to remind us all that it was empty. "Or you can stay here and let Steph's stomach devour you both," he added with a smirk.

*o*

As I slid into one of the many booths Rangeman was occupying at Suzan's Diner this evening, a sense of calm washed over me. The relaxed atmosphere, along with the jovial mood of the men was slowly seeping into every cell in my body, erasing the tension I'd been carrying for far too long. It helped a lot, too, that I'd cleared up the misunderstanding with Harry as well. I felt like, for the first time in a week I could breathe without a crushing weight on my chest.

"What can I get for my favourite Range-Gal?" Uncle Suzan's voice called as he made his way over to the booth I'd situated myself at. Immediately, the Musketeers began to protest. They had every right to, as well, because it didn't matter what else was going on in the diner, Uncle Suzan always made a beeline for me as soon as I sat down. Half the time he wasn't even out on the floor serving when we arrived, but as soon as my ass hit the seat, he was beside my table, a notepad in hand and a smile in his eyes. Something told me he liked winding the guys. And asserting his authority over them. "When you all appreciate my food as much as Steph does I'll give you all the same treatment," he snapped over his shoulder, as though to prove my mental point.

"What do you recommend for a Jersey girl who hasn't slept in a week," I asked, leaning my head back to meet his gaze.

Uncle Suzan's eyes narrowed, and a fleeting scowl crossed his features before he managed to tuck it away. "There is no substitute for sleep, Stephanie," he informed me solemnly. "But I'll see what I can whip up to tie you over until bedtime."

"I'll have a chicken burger with avocado, hold the mayo," Shock requested quickly as Suzan wrote something in his notepad.

"You'll hold your tongue and wait for Danielle to come around and take your orders," Suzan shot back, snapping the pad shut and slipping it into the pocket of his apron. Returning softer eyes to me, he added, "I'll have Sue bring you over a cola while you're waiting."

I couldn't help but smile. "Thanks Uncle Suzan."

"Don't mention it," he replied over his shoulder as he walked away toward the kitchen.

"Who do I have to fuck to get some decent service around here?" a Musketeer who's name I couldn't recall moaned from the other end of the table, shattering the peaceful atmosphere.

I barely had time to register is words before Harry, who had been seated opposite me, was on his feet and hauling the person next to him – Tree – out of the booth.

"Out!" he demanded, pointing with a straight arm away from the booth. "Get out!"

"Wha-" Tree muttered, confusion painte all over his face as Harry shoved him out of the way.

"Not you," Harry said. "Jason. Get out of the booth."

"Make me," the unknown Musketeer replied coolly.

Harry demeanour was colder than I'd ever seen him. His rarely used blank mask was firmly in place, left arm still stiff out to the side, right hand squeezing in a fist so tight I thought he was going to break his own hand somehow. "Get out of the booth, Jason," he repeated, his voice holding an edge I didn't even know he was capable of. "Your sexist and suggestive comments are not welcome in this company or this diner, let alone at this table."

An eerie hush had fallen over the extensive crowd of men. All eyes were on our booth as Harry laid down the law. I hadn't thought anything of Jason's comment, just brushing it off as just another line men use to express their impatience, but apparently Harry had read more into it.

"What's going on here?" Jaws asked, emerging from the crowd to stand beside Harry, his easy air of authority blanketing the scene.

"I'd like to know that myself," Uncle Suzan added, appearing at my side with his arms crossed.

I didn't know who to answer first. Did Jaws hold the authority because it was an issue with a Rangeman employee? OR was this Uncle Suzan's jurisdiction because this was his diner? On top of that dilemma, I actually had no idea how I would even explain it. Luckily, though, Harry appeared to have no such confusion.

"Jason here," he said, lowering his left arm as he jabbed the other in Jason's direction. "Isn't happy with the level of service he has received at this fine, upstanding, family-oriented establishment and had the audacity to suggest that if he were to sleep with a member of staff he would get special treatment."

"Oh, I'll give him special treatment, all right," Uncle Suzan seethed, stepping forward. "I've been looking for a new dish pig. How does a month's worth of washing dishes sound to you?" Another step closer to where Jason still sat calmly in the booth. "Or maybe you'd prefer me to take you out back and show you just how special you are?"

Jason rolled his eyes. I was surprised, because that was now three Musketeers I'd seen roll their eyes in the course of a week, whereas down in Trenton I'd gone years without a single eye roll from any of the Merry Men. And then there was the fact that he thought now, in the face of all these angry guys a good time to roll them. "I was just saying, how come Steph is always served way before everyone else?"

Harry lunged toward the man, stopped only by Jaws laying a hand on his shoulder, holding him back. He was practically vibrating with anger. "That's not what you were saying and we all know it."

Beside me, Shock leaned close to my ear and whispered, "Maybe we should move to a different table?"

All I could do was shake my head. I understood exactly why he suggested it, but I didn't want to go. I'd spent my whole life with people talking about me behind my back. If I left this table now they would continue the topic they'd began, and since it was already on me I figured I had a right to be here. _YOU CAN'T POSSIBLY TELL ME THAT ALL THE TIME WE WERE A COUPLE YOU NEVER ONCE SLEPT WITH MANOSO!_ Morelli's words crashed through my head unbidden, knocking the air from my lungs. I tried to draw in a breath, block out the memory of what else he'd said that day. _No one has that many men trailing behind her without offering them a little taste of the honey pot from time to time._ My blocking attempts were unsuccessful. All I could do was clench my fists and try to focus on what was happening in real time.

"Jason," Jaws was saying, his jaw unmoving as he spoke through clenched teeth. "You can head out to the kitchen with Suzan to start on your new career as a filthy dish pig. Then tomorrow, you'll meet Mungo in the gym at oh-six-hundred."

Jason tried to protest the consequences that had been set, but he barely got a sound out before Uncle Suzan had seized him by the ear and was dragging him out of the booth and all the way to the door that led to the kitchens out back.

"Harry," Jaws said. "With me."

"I'm-"

"Now, Harry."

Harry was clearly still fuming, but he knew better than to try to resist, lest he suffer the same fate as Jason, so he turned on his heel and followed Jaws away. I tried to track their progress, concerned that Harry was going to get in trouble for standing up to Jason, but lost them when Tree slid back into the booth across from me, blocking my view.

"Are you okay?" he asked, when my gaze focused on him.

"Fine," I assured him, though I felt hollow inside. Maybe there was something wrong with me.

"You sure?" Tree insisted, leaning forward. "You look kinda pale. Should I get Stitch over here just in case?"

Pushing my thoughts into the box labelled 'Issues to suppress' that wasn't as small as I would have liked it to be in the corner of my brain, I tried for a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Tree," I said, deliberately loosening my fingers and spreading them against my thighs. "Honestly. Just hungry."

At that moment Suzan's wife Sue appeared at my side, placing a tall glass of Coke on the table in front of me. "Your meal shouldn't be too long, hun," she informed me, with her customary sweet smile.

"Thanks," I murmured even though she was already walking away. As her footsteps retreated a hush feel over the restaurant. Not silence. There were too many bodies in the space for that. But the kind of hush that falls over a classroom after someone's been called to the principal's office. The kind of hush that left no doubt in my mind that everyone was whispering about the events that had just occurred. I could feel eyes on me. Judging me. It was a familiar crawl on my skin, but that didn't mean it was a welcome sensation. I had to get away from it. I couldn't just sit her and accept that once again I was the subject of gossip and rumours.

"I'm just going to the bathroom," I told Tree when my movement caught his gaze. He nodded, but said nothing, having turned his attention to examining the menu.

As I passed down the narrow hall that lead to the restrooms, I tried to block out the quiet noise from the dining floor that was ringing in my ears. I tried to focus on the different kind of quiet that filled the hall instead, the muted clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen door at the far end. The voices of chefs and kitchen hands communicating their progress and instructions. The voices coming from the men's room as I passed. The –

Wait. Was that….?

I paused beside the men's room door, listening hard.

"You _know_ what she was facing in Trenton," came an agitated voice that I instantly recognised as Harry. "You _know_ that this is _exactly_ the kind of thing that prompted her to ask Tank for a transfer."

"I aslo know," Jaws's much calmer, much quieter voice replied, causing me to lean so close to the door that my ear was practically pressed to it. "That we were not supposed to let Ms. Plum _know_ that we know."

I knew it was too good to be true that the Merry Men would let me transfer up here without a big lecture on my history. They couldn't just let me have a fresh start, could they? Shaking myself, I swatted those thoughts away, reminding myself of the epiphany I'd had the other day. Everything the Trenton guys did was done out of love and deep seeded need to protect me at all costs. If they'd clued the Boston crew in on my history it must have been only so that they would be properly prepared to deal with any fallout that could occur.

"So I was just supposed to let Jason get away with it?" Harry demanded.

There was a pause where I thought Jaws might have sighed, but it was so quiet that I couldn't hear it. "Of course not, but-"

"Then what is even the point of this conversation?" Harry interrupted, cutting off whatever admonishment Jaws was about to deliver. "Jason is a sexist asshole who can't keep his opinions to himself. He deserves everything coming to him."

"I agree," Jaws said quickly, emphatically. "Perhaps there was a way to achieve the same result without calling him out in a public place in front of Miss Plum. As you've already pointed out, she's been through enough of that kind of thing this year to last a lifetime.

 _Ain't that the truth?_ I thought to myself. Silently thanking Jaws for understanding my situation enough realise that this evening's display had left me uncomfortable. It did make me wonder, however, how long they had known, because when I'd first arrived a few weeks ago they never would have made such a display to defend me, especially since the one comment Jason had made before being called out wasn't even necessarily directed at me.

"I couldn't just let him get away with his comment," Harry said, almost as if he was replying to my silent thoughts. "And neither would you."

I think Jaws sighed again, but I can't be sure, since it didn't seem like the kind of thing any Rangeman should or would do more than once in a single conversation. "I suppose you're right," he said sounding resigned.

"Can I go now?" Harry pressed. "I want to make sure Steph is okay."

I didn't hang around to hear Jaws's reply; that's how people get caught eavesdropping. Instead, I scurried the few feet further down the hall to the ladies room ducking inside just as I heard the creak of a door behind me as they exited the men's. That was a close one, but oddly, despite now having confirmation that my life had been discussed behind my back, I felt a little better. I'd thought the Musketeers were merely uncaring, but like Mungo with his insistence that I learn proper defence techniques before the distraction last week, they just had a different way of showing their love. Maybe love was too strong a word to describe how the Musketeers felt about me so far, but maybe, just maybe, it wasn't the hate and disdain I'd originally thought.

* * *

 ** _I've been refining the end game for this story this evening, which is making me a little excited, but also apprehensive because of all the loose ends I need to tie up before then. EEK!_**


	45. Chapter 45

_Posting early again, because I can't wait any longer (I REALLY felt like posting yesterday [Thursday]_ _but denied myself the pleasure because I'm supposed to be posting on weekends._

 **Chapter 45**

The advantage of always being served first when we visit Uncle Suzan's was that b the time I finished my meal – the guys (and Suzan) always insisted I not wait for them lest we all be consumed by the impatient best that is my empty stomach (and the food get cold) – everyone else was still eating, which gave me plenty of time to order dessert. Something I almost always took advantage of. Tonight, with all it's nerve wracking and heart pounding events, happened to be part of the 'always' rather than the 'almost', and I was examining the dessert section of the menu when something at the edge of my vision caught my attention. A movement coming toward me.

I turned my head and caught Shock, wide eyed, frozen in the act of reaching toward the hem of my shirt, a clothespin in hand, opened and ready for pegging. "What," I questioned, a deadly tone to my voice. "are you doing?"

"A slight blush coloured his cheeks, adding to the comical appearance the permanent arch of his brows created. "Would you believe that I was removing this peg from your shirt" he asked, letting the clothespin snap shut as he dropped it onto the table beside his half-finished burger. "You should really make sure you get all the pegs are off your clothes before you put them on."

I rolled my eyes. I'd caught him moving _toward_ me, not _away_ from me. He'd have to try a little harder if that was the story he was sticking with. "Try again," I said, inwardly grimacing at how much those two words made me sound like Joe.

"Uhhh," he hedged, his wide eyes flicking to the other side of the table where Harry sat, watching our exchange with a mouthful of spaghetti. "It was Harry's idea," Shock finished hastily, picking up his burger and taking a large bite to avoid any follow up questions I might have. He needn't have bothered, though, because Harry made a muffled sound of protest at having the blame shifted to him, my attention, too, was shifted.

"Harry?"

He was chewing frantically now, trying to empty his mouth so he could defend himself when he managed to swallow it must have become lodged in his throat because he was seized by a round of choked sounding coughs as he face turned red. I was starting to worry if someone needed to step in and give him a hand when he must have finally cleared out the blockage, because after several deep, cough-free breaths, he took a large gulp from his glass of water. A few more breaths and he seemed to have regained his composure. He met my gaze sheepishly.

"Well?" I prompted.

"Remember couple of weeks ago when I accidentally snuck up on you and you mentioned how you need to be more aware of your surroundings?" he asked, still sounding out of breath as he fidgeted with the brim of his pork pie hat. I nodded. "Remember how you asked for my help in the odds and ends of your training that don't fit in your sessions with Barrel and Mungo?"

Another nod. It wasn't something I probably would have recalled without his prodding, since all he'd actually taught me since then was the names of the tools we used on installs and how to mount a camera for optimal surveillance, but there was no doubting that the conversation did, indeed, happen.

"This is me helping," he announced.

"Is it though?" I countered, gesturing to the peg on the table with a quick glance to Shock, who was still keeping his mouth full to avoid being called on to provide explanations.

"Yes," he assured me. "It is. You need to be more aware of your surroundings if you want to succeed in this business. This is a simple, non-life-threatening way for you to become more aware of how often you tunnel in on what you're focussing on."

I thought about the bottom drawer of my desk, slowly filling with clothespins. As was the shoe box on the floor beside my hamper in my apartment. There had to be at least a hundred pegs that I'd removed from my clothes in the last two weeks. "How many people are in on this?"

"Literally everyone," Harry admitted. "I went out and bought, like, a hundred bags of pegs."

"Why didn't you tell me that's what this was instead of letting me go slowly insane?" I asked.

He smiled then, two rows of pearly white teeth shining at me. "Part of the exercise was to see how long it took for you to catch someone in the act," he explained, picking up his fork once more a stuffing a large swirl of spaghetti into his still grinning mouth.

"Now that you've noticed," Tree continued where Harry left off, having apparently been listening intently the whole time. "You can work on keeping an eye out for incoming clothespins."

"Joy," I muttered.

"It's not so bad," Harry pointed out with a chuckle. "We could have just made you do Spot The Differences twenty-four-seven."

I scrunched my face. That didn't make any sense. "What would that have achieved?" I asked, unable to see how staring at almost identical pictures was going to increase my overall awareness. In fact, the only thing I _could_ see it doing was raising my frustration levels.

"It would have amused us, for a start," Shock chipped in, having apparently regained some of his confidence.

"Anyway," Barrel said from the far end of the booth where he was practically squashed intot he corner. "Your first field readiness test is coming up soon, so it's a good thing you noticed the clothespins now. This way you can work on it."

Harry shook his head. "The pegs aren't an official part of the assessment," he assured me. "It's just something I came up with to help you."

"You clearly haven't read the memo that was sent out this afternoon," Barrel grinned. "Hugh caught Lock with two pegs attached to his back and declared that anyone found to be inattentive enough to be pegged would be participating in a remedial form of basic training."

I wasn't sure how much more remedial basic training could get, but the guys looked horrified enough to shudder and return to their food without further comment, leaving me to examine the dessert menu once more.

*o*

"How's my favourite camper?" Tank greeted as he picked up the phone later that night.

I'd been home from Uncle Suzan's for about half an hour and all the things I'd heard tonight were chasing each other around my head, running in endless circles as I stared at the blank television screen. There was so much to process that I didn't know where to start. I'd realised pretty quickly that I needed assistance in the form of the man who had become my sounding board and confidante in recent months. As I scrolled through my recent contacts, I'd realised that I'd spoken to Lester and Bobby several times in the last week but had only spoken to Tank once, the day after the distraction when he'd called late in the afternoon to see for himself that I was recovering. I felt guilty for neglecting him, but also knew that he was extremely busy with Ranger having been gone for so long.

"She's okay," I said, pulling my feet up under me and settling into the couch a little more. "Is now a good time to talk? I can call back tomorrow if you're busy, or with the other guys."

"It's neve a bad time to talk to you," he assured me. "It's just me, the cats and Rex tonight anyway. So what's on your mind?"

I sighed, leaning back into the cushions. "A lot of things," I admitted. "Some more concerning than others."

He murmured a sound of understanding, and I could have sworn I heard a cat purring as well, like it was joining in. "What's the least concerning?" he asked. "We'll knock them out of the way first."

I thought about it for a second. What _was_ the least concerning issue on my mind? It took a few moments to organise my thoughts into a prioritised list, during which time I could hear Tank murmuring to one of his cats to ' _just settle down already_ '. Eventually, I had it all sorted and began by telling him about the pegs that had been appearing on my clothes and what I'd learned the meant this evening. Tank laughed a little at the explanation, but assured me this meant that the guys were warming to me.

"They wouldn't resort to such a goofy stunt if they didn't like you," he explained. "You saw for yourself how serious the Boston guys were when you first got there. You're winning them over."

"Winning them over?" I asked, entirely unconvinced that that was what was happening. "The fact that they banded together behind my back to humiliate me means that I'm growing on them?"

"Sure," he agreed easily. "Maybe not the humiliation part. I don't think that's what they were trying to do. There are far more efficient ways to humiliate a person than to attach clothespins to the clothes they're still wearing." A moment of static passed between us, like he expected me to protest more, but to be honest, I wanted to believe him. I wanted this to be the beginning of building proper relationships up here. I wanted to show them that I was capable of living up to the standards they held so dear. "So what else is on your mind?" Tank asked.

Went on like that, me explaining my worries and concerns and Tank systematically dispelling them with simple, straight forward explanations. We spoke about the prospect of my upcoming field readiness, and Hugh's personality transplant. Conversing in depth on the topic of the botched distraction last week and how I was handling the aftermath. The longer we talked, the calmer I felt. It was as if we were at the small kitchenette table back in his granny flat. All that was missing was a home cooked meal from Ella, Rex spinning in his wheel nearby and his cats peering in the window.

"Thanks for this, Tank," I said on a yawn. "It's really helped."

"Is that everything, then?" he asked. "All your fears laid to rest?"

"For now," I confirmed. "What about you, though? Is there anything playing on your mind that I can help navigate?" It wasn't something I'd offered before, but he'd helped me so much recently that I felt the need to give back. And surely with Ranger out of the country there was a lot more stress on Tank's shoulders at the moment.

"I'm fine," Tank assured me. "For now, at least. But if Ranger doesn't hurry up and get his ass back on American soil, I may have to assemble a team and go find him. I'm not made for all this sitting behind a desk business."

He really wasn't. That was an undisputable fact. His size made for hunching over the keyboard and accidentally hitting the wrong keys. "Is it unusual for him to be away this long?" I'd never really taken notice of the lengths of times he would be in the wind before, but to my memory he was only ever missing for a couple of weeks. By my count, not that I was counting, Ranger had been in the wind for a little over 2 months now.

"It's not unheard of," Tank said. "That doesn't make it usual though."

"Do you think he's-"

"I'm sure he's fine," Tank said. "You should probably get to bed before you fall asleep on me. I love you like a sister, but you should know that if you start to snore I will feel obligated to record it and use it as blackmail fodder." I tried to deny that I was tired, but my credibility was thwarted when another yawn snuck out. "Goodnight, Steph," he said firmly. "And if you're feeling generous in the morning, maybe you could call Ella and ask her to make me one of her famous casseroles."

I shook my head. "You know she'd do it for you if you asked yourself, right?"

"Yeah, but if you ask her to do it, it sounds like you're worried that I'm not eating and she'll throw in a container of cookies," he explained. The chuckle snuck up on me, but soon exploded into a round of giggles I was not usually known for when he added, "I'm serious."

"Tank!" I laughed out. "She'd make you cookies if you asked as well!"

* * *

 _ **I am super excited about the next chapter! I had a blast writing it, thanks to my bestie, and I think it's the best chapter I've written in a while.**_


	46. Chapter 46

HAPPY FRIDAY, PEOPLE! Are you excited for a new chapter? Cos I AM!

 **Chapter 46**

"Are you excited?" Harry asked, a manic grin stretching across his face as I entered the tech lab. It wasn't even eight o'clock yet. I was barely awake enough to make it down one floor from my apartment, and he was grinning at me. I didn't have the mental capacity to process his glee. I didn't have the mental capacity to do anything but stand in the doorway and stare blearily at him. His grin shrank back a little. "I'm gonna take that as a no."

"Mmm," I grunted, closing the door behind myself and taking a seat at the first work bench that had a stool at it. I should have gone straight for my office, it was the reason I'd come down so early. I had work to do. I had searches to run. I had… no energy. Maybe if I just laid my head on the bench Harry would take pity on me and let me have a short nap.

"Come on, Steph," he enthused, abandoning whatever he was working on and coming over to the bench I'd claimed. "Today's gonna be a great day."

"Today's gonna be hell," I countered, not bothering to lift my head. I'd been preparing for today for two weeks, and I could honestly say that I would rather just continue preparing for eternity than actually go through with today.

He chuckled, and I wanted to punch him in the arm, but I didn't have the energy, plus, despite the fact that he wasn't ex-mil, I was pretty sure the general rule of thumb when it came to Rangemen still applied. I'd only end up injuring my hand if I so much as attempted to hit him. Which didn't bode well for what was on the agenda today. "You're ready," he said. "Mungo wouldn't have set a date for your test if he didn't think you could nail it."

I shook my head, lolling it to the side so that I could see Harry's still overly optimistic face. "I watched the tape of Jerry's first test last night," I told him. "I'm not ready. I don't know how to do half the shit he had to do."

If anything, Harry's grin only widened at my words. "I wouldn't worry too much about that," he said. "Besides, Reese got you a good luck present."

"Is it a sweatshirt?" I asked, knowing how much she loved giving people sweatshirts.

"It _is_ a sweatshirt!" he confirmed, in a mock surprised tone. "How did you know?"

I managed a small smile. "Just a hunch."

With a flourish he revealed a black sweatshirt with white block letters across the front. "NOT TODAY," it read. How appropriate. Reese really knew how to capture a person's mood in the form of a hoodie. I took it from him and dragged it on over my head, despite the fact that Rangeman was always kept at the perfect temperature. There was never a _need_ to wear any kind of outerwear while inside the building, but if you needed a little extra cosiness, it's not so warm that you can't throw on a sweater. I smiled down at my chest, making a mental note to thank Reese for her thoughtfulness when I was more awake. In fact, maybe I should see if I lived through the day first.

"As a show of solidarity, I decided to wear one of my own Reese endorsed hoodies," Harry said, pulling another sweatshirt, this one bright yellow, from an unseen location, he didn't hold it up for me to see, though, instead pulling it straight on. Removing the black Akubra he wore, he took a moment to tug the sweatshirt into place before returning the hat to his head

 _"ADVENTURE, THEN TACOS"_ the front of the sweater read.

"Is that today's plan?" I asked, trying to stifle a yawn that had snuck up on me.

He stared down at the words on his shirt. "Maybe," he said. "Mungo definitely has the adventure covered. Do you want to go out for tacos after your test?"

It sounded like a great idea, but I was still concerned about making it through the day first. I'd been informed that any appointments I had with the guys would need to be rescheduled, since the exam would take all day. I was fully expecting that I would have bombed so bad in the first half of the test that by lunch time they would have called the whole thing off. Either that or they would fail me before lunch but make me endure the rest of the test anyway. I wasn't sure which option I preferred. "Let's focus on surviving the test first," I said slowly.

"A wise decision," Harry nodded. "And to aid in the process of surviving, we come to _my_ good luck present." Leaning under the bench we were at he produced one last surprise. Two large take-away coffee cups and a white bakery bag sat on a cardboard tray. "I pulled some strings with Yetti," he explained before I even had a chance to think the questions that should have popped into my mind straight away. "I know you mentioned needed to find a good donut place when we picked you up from the airport, and I don't know if you've had the chance yet, but this is the one my grandad always liked. You don't go to the same bakery every week for thirty years for shit donuts, am I right?" He removed one of the coffees from the tray and set it in front of me, sliding the bag across the counter.

In answer, I took a loving sip of my coffee and dug out a Boston Crème from the bag. "Ironically," I said, staring at the pastry in my hand. "I've never had a Boston Crème from Boston before."

"Blasphemy," Harry declared, taking a sip of his own coffee. "But we just call them Crèmes up here. No need to say where they're from. We all know."

I knew he was joking. He _had_ to be joking, but my morning brain was still in its sluggish stage and the look he was giving me was setting a course for confusion. I stared at him over the lid of my coffee as I slowly chewed the donut. I wasn't about to open my mouth and reveal just how much of an idiot my morning brain made me. As the seconds ticked on, Harry's wicked grin crept back into his face and I silently commended my filter for not taking the bait.

"I'm joking, of course," he assured me, like I'd been worried. "Now, I assume you came down here to get some paperwork in before your exam, so I'm gonna go grab your laptop for you so you don't risk breaking an ankle on the walk to your office, then I'm gonna head downstairs to an appointment."

*o*

The first half of my field readiness test was pretty much like any other day of training with Barrel and Mingo. I shot at a bunch of targets at a bunch of distances with a bunch of different guns, just like any other session. In the gym I demonstrated everything I knew about disabling opponents on a handful of Musketeers I'd never faced off against before. Usually, it was just me and Mungo slogging it out on the mats, but I guess that after two and a bit months of daily hour-long torture sessions with the same man, I was fairly well versed in his methods and that in order to prove that my skills were transferable, I needed to go up against someone who was going to bring a certain element of surprise to the dance.

I have to admit, I took great deal of pleasure in taking down both Q and Bronson with a well timed knee to the groin. They had both been to consistently antagonistic toward me ever since I'd arrived. Q with his cocky aversion tactics, and Bronson with his flat out refusal to take me seriously. I would have thought Q's blatant fear of a certain tank-sized man from Trenton might have tempered his antics, but apparently I was wrong. And as for Bronson, well, let's just say I was in conversation with Hawk about the issue, and it should be resolved soon. Sooner, I think, now that I've proven what a lethal weapon my knee is.

Not every sparry match was a success on my part, but I can honestly say I gave it my all. If the liberal amount of sweat dripping off my body by the time Mungo announced that I'd completed that part of the test wasn't proof enough of my efforts, I don't know what was.

"Take a shower, have some water and a light lunch, and meet back here in an hour for part two," Mungo instructed, handing me a towel and a bottle of water as I stepped off the mat.

I'd asked what I should expect when I came back after lunch, hoping I could possibly do some mental preparation during my break, but Mungo's cryptic reply of, "You've completed the theory, next logical step is the practical," gave me very little to go.

Now, as I crouched in the dark recess of the supply cupboard on the fifth floor, peering out through the tiny gap between the door and the jamb, I kind of understood what he meant. Demonstrating my skills on the mats and in the range was one thing. Apply those skills in a real world scenario was something entirely different. There were so many extra factors to consider when you weren't simply meeting someone on the mats.

My mission, if I choose to accept it, (and it was made abundantly clear that if I didn't, I would not be passing today's exam) was to retrieve a tiki mug from Hugh's office without being caught. I was allowed to use any Rangeman resources available to me, including the men, but had to keep in mind that a handful of men had been selected to prevent me from achieving my goal. It was a weird one against five game of capture the flag.

Oh, and I had to get the tiki mug back to Mungo in the gym by five o'clock this evening. That gave me a total of four hours to work with.

Shifting my weight to try to stave off the growing sensation of pins and needles crawling up my legs, I slipped my phone out of my pocket to check the time once more. There was a little less than an hour left on the clock and I still hadn't managed to retrieve the mug.

The first hour, I'd spent in my office down in the lab, gathering information and formulating a plan. It was rather simple, really: wait until Hugh was out of his office, sneak in and grab the tiki mug from wherever it may be hiding, then hightail it down to the gym with my prize.

The execution of this marvellous plan, though, left a lot to be desired, and I'd to rewrite it a few times in the last two hours.

Glitch number one occurred when I was exiting my office and was met with a still smiling and energetic Harry tracking my progress across the space. "How was your test?" he asked as I passed the end of the bench he was working at.

"It was okay," I shrugged, deliberately neglecting to mention that it was still in progress. I didn't know who I could trust in this little game of espionage, having not been informed of who the handful of men that were tasked with trying to make me fail. And more than that, I felt like the rest of the men were likely to turn on me if they found out, just to make it harder for me. "I'd give myself a solid B for the gun range section," I added, feeling the need to appear as normal as possible to avoid raising suspicion. "But I think I'm sitting on a C- for gym component."

"A C- is still a pass," Harry pointed out supportively.

"Just," I muttered.

He'd then created a clever distraction by asking me to look over a file he'd been working on to see if I could give him any insights. I'd always found it hard to say no when people asked me for help, which I'm pretty sure by this point Harry was well aware of, so even as the warning bells were sounding in my brain that this distraction was deliberately formulated to keep me from my exam, I accepted the file he held out toward me and started skimming through the pages.

That, along with the recommendations I'd been compelled to give him had taken more than twenty minutes, by which time I'd missed a golden opportunity to stealth my way to the tiki mug. Hugh's meeting on the second floor was already over and he'd had plenty of time to make it back to his office. The next time he was scheduled to leave his office wasn't for another hour. Maybe if I hung out on the fifth floor for a while I might get lucky and he'd go for a coffee break or something.

As it turns out, I was not only not lucky enough for Hugh to wander away from his office for a break, just a few minutes before I was expecting Hugh to step out for his next meeting, I'd been seized from behind by Jerry and carried through the maze of cubicles to one in the back corner where he'd proceeded to tie me to the office chair. Dirty rotten bastard.

After thirty minutes of wriggling and contorting myself, followed by ten minutes of desperate begging once I'd managed to drag myself into the next cubicle by my tippy toes, I was freed and had decided that hanging around in plain sight was not the way to go if I wanted succeed in my mission. Which lead me to sneaking into the supply closet. I'd be lying if one of my first conversations with Lester after I transferred up here. I figured if he could fit in the supply closet back in Trenton, I could fit in the Boston one. What Lester neglected to tell me, though, was that the only way to fit in was to squat down. It was not very comfortable.

The sooner Hugh left his office, the better, then I could dash in, grab the mug and race down to the gym. If I could even get my legs to work after so long in this position. I'd been working out a lot more, as per my mandatory training routine, but that didn't mean that my legs were prepared for prolonged squatting.

Shifting again as I pressed my eye to the gap, I almost whimpered with relief as I spotted the boss man himself strolling down the corridor from his office. He paused for a minute where I assumed the elevator was, before finally disappearing.

Now was my chance. I still had about half an hour to get this done. That's plenty of time. I just needed to keep a low profile.

Glancing at the shelves above my head, an idea popped into my mind. I eased the door open, stood, shaking out my legs a little as I grabbed down a couple of empty file folders. I took a moment too add sticky labels to the tabs, just in case anyone decided to take a closer look at what I was holding. I mean, this is a building full of men that notice everything, knowing my luck someone would spot it from across the room, call me out on it, and subject me to an interrogation that lasted just long enough for me to fail my test. With that in mind, I realised that they would probably be able to tell that the files were empty and hastily stuffed some blank paper inside, layering some sticky notes around the edges just to make it seem more used. It might seem like a lot of effort for a flimsy cover, but the Rangemen were details oriented.

Shoving an extra pad of sticky notes and a couple of pens in my back pocket just in case I needed a cover for why I was at the supply closet (gotta have covers for your covers, you know?) I shut the door and started down the corridor.

I was almost there. Just a few more feet and I'd be safely ensconced in Hugh's vacant office. I could almost feel the Tiki mug in my hand. Nearly. Just reach out for the handle and-

"He's not in," Hawk's voice called from behind me.

Try as I might, I couldn't control my reaction. I almost jumped clear out of my skin as I spun to face him. He wasn't even in the hall, or the open doorway to his own office. He was seated behind his desk, peering at me over the screen of his computer. He must have glanced up when he spotted my movement out of the corner of his eye.

"What?" I practically gasped, my heart beating a rapid tattoo in my chest. _Please_ , I pleaded with the universe. _No more delays._

"Hugh," he said, nodding toward the door behind me. "He's not in. You just missed him. He's got a meeting."

I glanced to the door. "Oh," I said, trying to sound disappointed.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Hawk asked, standing from his desk and making his way to the door. He crossed his arms as he leaned against the jamb and eyed the files in my arm.

"Uh, no," I said, following his gaze down. "It's more of a Hugh matter." And then, because I needed to keep up pretenses, I added, "Do you know when he'll be back?" I knew exactly when he'd be back. Twenty minutes. My chances of getting the mug were disappearing with every passing second.

"Shouldn't be too long," Hawk said, glancing at his watch. "You can wait in my office if you like," he offered, moving to the side with a sweeping hand gesture. I started to decline, a shake of the head and a vague pointing finger directed back down the hall, but his next statement ripped any hope of escape from my grasp. "I'm actually glad I caught you," he said. "I've been meaning to ask you up for a chat."

"Oh," I said again. My vocabulary was clearly suffering the stress of this mission. "What about?"

He gestured again and I couldn't come up with a plausible excuse quick enough to get out of there. Inwardly groaning, I was left with no choice but to follow him back into his office and sit down in one of the visitor's chairs. Hawk took his place behind the desk and folded his hands on the blotter, just staring at me for a long moment before his face suddenly broke into a compassionate smile. "There's no need to look so worried," he said. "You're not in trouble. I just wanted to check in with you."

I blew out the breath I hadn't realised I was holding. "Oh," I repeated once more. "Okay."

"Standard procedure is that this chat usually happens after three months, so it's a little early, but I'm also conscious of a few factors that make your case different to the average new employee," he explained. "The first of which being that you're not technically new, just new to the Boston branch. And then, of course, is the fact of the distraction a few weeks ago. A traumatic event like that would prompt me to push the check in forward for anyone. So, let's get started, shall we?"

"Sure," I breathed reluctantly as he pulled out what appeared to be an official form.

"How have you found you time here at Rangeman thus far?" Hawk read from the sheet.

And that is how I ended up spending the next half hour trapped in a conversation that was, admittedly, probably a legitimate requirement in the policies and procedures. We discussed the state of my training with Mungo, Barrel and Harry, as well as how I was fitting in with the rest of the guys. He asked about my goals moving forward within the company, what I thought my strengths and weaknesses were, and what I would like to learn. I had to rate a bunch of different categories related to the company on a scale of one to ten. Until finally he got to the end of the form.

"Are there any questions you'd like to ask at this time?" he read.

I wanted to slap myself in the face for drawing this encounter out even further than it needed, but I did actually have a question that I'd been meaning to ask. Now was the perfect opportunity. "I was actually wondering what the outcome of the Hernandez case was," I asked quietly, making steady eye contact with the pieces of paper on the desk in front of Hawk. I should have asked sooner, afforded myself the peace of mind, but after that night at the diner, the nightmares that had stolen away my sleep for that week had died down significantly. I now only woke up with my heart racing and my hair sticking to the sweat coating my body once a week, and given that I'd been through worse patches in my life, it was manageable.

"Hernandez?" he question, his head dipping to the side like a curious dog.

"The target on the distraction," I reminded him.

"Ah," he murmured. "Yes. You'll be happy to know that thanks to the footage from the club that night and the statements that you and some of the other men made to the police he was denied bail."

I nodded. "That's good," I whispered. "Thank you for that."

"Don't thank me," he said solemnly. "Lester and Harry were the ones that lead the crusade on that one."

 _Of course they were,_ I thought, just as something in the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turned my head to try catch a better sight of Hugh slipping almost silently through the door to his office. Great. There goes my last chance to get the tiki mug. A glance at the clock on the wall told me I had a little more than five minutes left before I failed. I might as well head back downstairs and prepare myself for the inevitable.

"Well," Hawk said, a smile back on his face. "If you have no further questions, I think we're done here. And right in time, too. Hugh is back."

"Thanks," I sighed, standing from my chair and dragging my feet to the door. I'd just stepped into the hall, when Hawk's hand landed on my shoulder.

"You forgot your files," he informed me, sliding the fake folders into my hand. "They're pretty thick. Must be important."

"Something like that," I said. "Thanks again."

He waved my gratitude off as he retreated back into his office, but didn't close the door. As I stood there, the seconds ticking down to the moment my fate was sealed, I realised that I couldn't just walk away now. Hawk thought I needed to talk to Hugh. Hugh was now in his office. I kinda _had_ to talk to Hugh, now. A small flutter of hope started in my stomach as a thought occurred to me. Maybe, just maybe I could somehow swipe the mug while I was in there. It was a pretty slim chance, but I couldn't give up on myself now.

I inhaled a deep breath and stepped forward, knocking twice on the door and waiting for the standard invitation. _"Enter."_ The second I pushed open the door I was scanning for the tiki mug.

"Stephanie," Hugh said, seeming mildly surprised as he shuffled some papers on his desk. "Can I help you?"

Scanning… Scanning… There! On the corner of the desk! "Hawk just wanted me to walk these files over to you," I explained, crossing the room. "Nothing too urgent, but he needed to get them to you before they got lost at the bottom of his out tray."

He glanced at the files I held. "Just leave them on the desk there," he instructed, pointing to a small clear space on my side. "I'll get to them tomorrow, I was just packing up to leave."

I did as instructed, and paused a moment, conscious of the fact that Hugh was still watching me. I just needed him to look away from me for a couple of seconds so I could-

"Was there anything else?" he asked as my gaze slid to the tiki mug.

I took a chance and let my mouth take over the controls from my brain. "This is a nice mug," I said, picking up the object and examining it a littler closer.

"Oh?" Hugh frowned. Guess he was lacking on the vocab front today too.

"Yeah," I confirmed. "I actually collect these tikis. I think they're cute, and perfect to have around when you have friends over in the summer." I traced my fingers over the groves. "I've never seen this design before though," I added. "Where'd you get it?"

His frown deepened as he stared at it a little more intently. "I've actually never seen it before in my life," he said, sounding confused.

This was my chance. "Can I have it?" I asked.

Hugh's brows shot up, but he shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

I set my smile to beaming and hugged the mug to my chest. "Thanks, Hugh!" I enthused. "It'll go perfectly with my collection." Then, to orchestrate my exit, I made a big show of glancing at the clock on his desk. "Oh!" I exclaimed, and it wasn't hard to fake the shock as I noticed the proximity of the minute and hour hands. "I have to go." I was already moving toward the door, congratulating myself on securing the prize, but aware that I only had three minutes in which to make back down to the gym. "Thanks again!" I called over my shoulder as I opened the door to leave.

The sight that I was met with, though, had me frozen to the spot for several seconds. Out in the hall three men, Hawk included, were loitering suspiciously. Something told me I wasn't going to have a clear path to the gym.

"Was there something else?" I vaguely heard Hugh ask, confusion lacing his tone as, on a split second decision, I leaped into the hall and bolted, running full steam ahead for the stairwell that was conveniently located just before the group of suspicious Musketeers.

The moment I was in motion, they were too, sprinting towards me. Hawk tried to grab me by the waist, but I ducked out of the way, throwing out an elbow that connected with his abdomen, knocking the wind from his lungs. I'd just managed to clear that obstacle when Lock jumped at me, aiming for the legs. Somehow, I was able to avoid being caught there as well, as I bounded over his back, barely missing a step.

"What the hell is going on out there?" I heard Hugh yell from his office, but I didn't have time to pay him any mind, because Jerry was standing in front of the stairwell door, his knees bent as he prepared to capture me once more.

Not likely.

Operating on pure instinct now, I gave Jerry the same treatment that so many men before him had received when trying to cut my wings. I jabbed my knee into his crotch and quickly shoved him out of the way as the pain registered and he started to crumble. I didn't have time to spare a thought for his poor, tortured gonads. I had two minutes to get this tiki mug back down to Mungo.

Preferably in one piece, I added mentally as I careened down the stairs at a clip that was either going to break my ankle when I tripped, or the mug when I accidentally dropped it. I just had to make it down a couple of floors and down a short hall and I'd be done. I will have made it. Succeeded. Passed. TRIUMPHED! I was already feeling giddy as I reached the correct floor and emerged from the stairwell.

I didn't even hesitate as I registered Harry's presence in the hall between me and the gym. I _knew_ he was in on it too! I was sure I'd mentioned that the test was an all-day thing. And that case he'd asked me for help with was as straight forward as they come.

"Don't even think about it," I panted in warning as Harry moved to push off the wall he was leaning against. "If you stop me I will make your life a living hell."

Holding up his hands in surrender, he actually crossed the hall and opened the door for me just as I reached it. "After you," he said.

I raced inside, not stopping until I'd reached the springy floor of the mats, at which point I fell to my knees, holding the tiki mug up above my head. "I did it," I exclaimed, despite the fact that my chest was burning and I was barely able to draw in enough oxygen to stay upright. "I got the stupid tiki mug."

"Congratulations," Mungo said, seated on the bench nearby, arms crossed over his chest. "You made it back with twenty seconds to spare."

* * *

 ** _I'd like to thank my bestie for adding an extra spark of inpiration to this chapter that turned it up to eleven._**


	47. Chapter 47

_Okay, you know how excited I was for last chapter? Well, I'm just as excited about this chapter. I just want to hold this chapter to my chest and hug it and squeeze it._

 **Chapter 47**

"We'll take your finest table," Harry announced as we stepped through the entrance to the restaurant. I had enough time to take in the rustic looking bar and subtle mood lighting before he looped his arm through mine, adding, with that ridiculously happy smile plastered on his face, "We're celebrating."

I rolled my eyes as the nearest employee cast us a confused eyebrow raise. The Lone Star Taco Bar did not appear to be the kind of establishment where you were required to wait for someone to take you to your table. It was just a bar that served Mexican food. Albeit an attractive looking bar. If you discounted the bison head protruding from the wall above the tables. That was a little unnerving. I could never quite understand the fascination with putting dead animal heads on the wall. Hunters in their hunting cabins (if they still exist) kinda makes sense, because they're kept as trophies. But as an interior decorating decision outside of that realm? Just why?

The Lone Star employee was still staring at us. Harry was still beaming at her, then me alternatively. I was fighting the urge to sigh.

"Uh, sit anywhere?" Miss Lone Star instructed slowly, turning to gesture to the mostly empty bar so that I could now see her name tag. Becky did not appear to be at all amused by Harry's antics. "Someone will be over in a second to take your order."

Harry thanked Becky gallantly and dragged me to a table at the far end of the bar and invited me to take the booth side with a sweeping hand. I slid onto the wooden bench seat as he pulled out a stool across from me. He looked ridiculous with his cheeky grin, his bright yellow sweater (he hadn't taken it off all day and none of the other guys had batted an eye) and his black Akubra. As I watched, he removed the hat from his head and placed it on the stool beside him, running a hand through his hair.

My shock must have showed on my face, because gave a small shrug and explained, "Its bad manners to wear a hat in a restaurant."

That made sense. Old fashion etiquette. Harry definitely seemed the kind of guy to adhere to that kind of ruling. But… "You keep your hat on when you go to Uncle Suzan's, though," I pointed out. "Last night you wore a straw cowboy hat."

His hand ran through his hair again, eyes darting to the hat beside him. "This is a classier joint than Suzan's Diner," he explained. "It feels wrong to wear a hat here. My father would probably have a conniption."

I watched the way his shoulders slumped and he hunched forward a little, his usual good-postured confidence vanishing before my eyes. I tried not to stare at his hair too much, but it was hard to keep my gaze off it when he kept sifting his fingers through it, or rubbing his head. It was a vicious circle. The more he played with it, the more I stared. The more I stared, the more he played with it.

"It feels wrong to not wear a hat," he added, appearing to make a concentrated effort to keep his hands off his head as he slid a menu across the table toward me. "I never not wear a hat."

"We can leave and go somewhere less classy if it will make you feel better," I offered.

"I promised you tacos," he said firmly, dragging a second menu in front of himself. "We're getting tacos."

Reaching across the table, I laid my hand over his where it had begun picking at the corner of the laminated page. "I don't want tacos if you're going to be uncomfortable," I said softly.

He opened his mouth to reply, or argue, I wasn't entirely sure which it would be, but a perky waitress appeared at his side before he could utter a single syllable.

"Hi there," she greeted with a warm smile and a southern accent. "I'm Marie, I'll be your waitress tonight. Becky told me you two cuties are celebrating, so I'd like to start by offering you both a complimentary glass of champagne." As if on cue, Becky appeared and set down two tall flutes in front of us, before slinking away again. Marie leaned down closer to me, then, a twinkle in her eye as she whispered, "And I'd _really_ like to get a glimpse of the ring."

She thought we were engaged?! "Uh," I choked, trying to make eye contact with Harry but also trying not to add to how awkward this night was already turning out to be. "I… um… I-I."

"There isn't a ring!" Harry exclaimed quickly, a steady blush spreading across his cheeks, just like when I'd caught him dancing in the lab. "It's just-"

"Oh!" the waitress breathed, full of understanding. "Kind of a spur of the moment thing, huh?" She nodded knowingly and nudged Harry's shoulder. "Well, when you do get her a ring, you come on back here and give me a looksee! Promise?"

"Uhh," Harry uttered, his hand spearing back through his hair again. "Yeah. We will. Right, Steph?" He looked to me for confirmation, or rescuing from the spotlight, but all I could do was nod. Still too shocked that we'd been confused for a newly engaged couple to be able to formulate any words.

Marie seemed pleased with the response – such as it was – that we'd given her, and spread her smile a little wider as she slipped a notepad and pen from her little apron and glanced between us. "So what can I get the happy couple?"

Somehow, we managed to swallow down the massive bout of discomfort that had settle over us enough to order some tacos and keep our composure until Marie had disappeared out the back to deliver our requests to the kitchen. The second she was out of sight I let out a pent up breath that turned almost too quickly into a laugh. I can't believe we'd been mistaken for a couple! It was definitely Harry's fault. That entrance!

Through my continued giggles, I heard Harry let out a long, rather agonised sigh. I glanced over to find his hands covering his face, fingers tangled in the long locks of blond hair that fell forward.

"Harry?"

"I guess it's too late to go somewhere else now?" he asked without looking up.

I shook my head even though he couldn't see me, and reached over to drag his hands away, surprised when he put up no resistance. His grey eyes, full of embarrassment, raised to meet mine. "It's never too late to leave if you're not comfortable here," I assured him. "We can go find a Taco Bell. Or, hell, we can go back to your place and have peanut butter sandwiches. I don't mind."

Seeming to pull himself together, he dragged down a semblance of the blank expression that I was so familiar with from the Rangemen – thankfully not _too_ blank in this case – and gave himself a small shake. "No," he said firmly. "It's fine. We've ordered tacos. We're going to stay and eat our tacos." He picked up his glass and held it toward me. "And we've got free champagne!"

I raised my glass to his and we both took a sip, but as we returned them to the table, I couldn't stop myself from asking one of the questions on my mind. I'd been wondering about it ever since I realised that the hats were a permanent feature on his head. I'd tried to contain my curiosity for almost three months now, which is almost unheard of for me, but the time was up. I couldn't suppress the urge any longer. "I hope you don't mind my asking," I said quietly, fiddling with the base of the champagne flute. "But, can you tell me the story of your hats?"

He stiffened at my request, his stormy gaze meeting mine steadily for a whole minute as a muscle ticked in his jaw. His fingers twitched like they wanted to either grab for the hat or his hair. A lump started to form in my throat as I saw just how much he relied on them. I almost felt guilty for asking. But then he took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, averted his gaze and started talking. Quietly. And without once looking at me.

"I was a painfully shy kid," he explained. "Could barely talk to anyone besides my family. I didn't really have any friends. I was so self-conscious." He shook his head. "One day Reese stopped me while we were on our way to the bus stop for school. She pulled my hat out of my backpack and shoved it on my head and she looked me dead in the eye and said, _'What's there to be afraid of when the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are right here protecting you?'_

"She'd gotten me the cap for Christmas that year," he continued. "But I hadn't worn it yet. I carried it with me, because I loved it. I loved the Ninja Turtles. But I didn't want to draw extra attention to myself by wearing it. It was a pretty bright green colour and I mostly just wore bland tones, trying to fit in the background. But that day, when Reese shoved it on my head and told me to keep it on, it felt like she'd put me in a full suit of armour. I was stronger. I was braver. I had protection against anything that might come my way."

"Reese is older than you, right?" I asked, unable to prevent the interruption. It was one of the things that annoyed Tank when he was telling a story. I tended to disrupt the flow. It was a big no-no. But I couldn't help myself. I needed to know things and if I didn't ask them when the thought occurred, I would forget them and never know the answer.

Harry, for all his current discomfort with the topic, smiled and nodded. "Yeah," he confirmed. "Ten months. We were born the same year. In the same grade at school."

A low whistle escaped me. "That's pretty insane," I said.

He nodded again, his smile widening just a touch. "I was lucky to have her there with me," he paused as his eyes glazed slightly, like a memory was playing out in his mind. "We were lucky to have each other."

"So that Ninja turtles cap changed your life?" I prompted.

"It was like the whole world suddenly opened up in front of me," he confessed, just as quietly as when he'd started the story. "When we stepped onto the bus that morning, one of the guys in our class grinned at me and told me my hat was cool. I just kinda smiled in return, unused to having people speak to me like that. Reese and I took our usual spot in the middle of the bus. Me by the window, Reese on the aisle so she could chat with her friends more easily. I spent the entire bus trip making sure the snapback on the cap was sized just right and my hair wasn't sticking out weirdly."

"When we got to school more people complimented my cap. And a few of the boys in my class invited me to sit with them at lunch. By the end of the week I had a few classmates that I was hanging out with every day. I had what I believed to be friends for the first time in my life."

"How old were you?"

"Nine," he said sheepishly. "Before that I just kinda hung around the edges of Reese's group. She told me she didn't mind, but I could tell she didn't exactly enjoy having her younger brother around constantly."

I laughed, but not because I thought it was lame that a nine year old couldn't make friends without a hat on his head. It was the thought that popped into my head. "That ninth year was a big year for both of us," I said, when his eyes darted up in panic. "That was the year I jumped off the garage roof trying to fly. Broke my arm in two place."

Harry relaxed a little, a hint of a smile appearing. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Because I'm dangerously reckless," I pointed out. "It's a real problem."

"It's part of your charm," he countered.

At that moment Marie appeared with our meals, setting them down in front of us with an indulgent smile and a twinkle in her eyes. "I love young love!" she announced as she retreated once more.

"She realises I'm thirty-five, right?" I asked, Harry. "She can't be more than twenty-seven."

"Thirty-five?" Harry repeated, sounding mildly surprised.

I nodded, my mouth full of delicious taco, chewing slowly to savour that first bite. "I know," I replied eventually. "I look older."

"Older?" he said, the surprise increasing as his eyebrows rose high enough to rival Shock's standard expression. "I thought you were my age. Maybe even a year younger."

I narrowed my eyes. I never quite believed people when they told me I look younger than I am. I see myself in the mirror every day. The wrinkles starting to appear where undeniable. There was no way I looked any younger than I was. But in saying that, I hadn't really given any thought to how old Harry actually was. I'd assumed late twenties. And there was absolutely no way I looked that young. I hadn't looked that young since I was in college. And I wasn't even in college in my late twenties. "How old are _you?_ " I asked.

"I turn thirty-two this year," he informed me.

"Seriously?" I asked.

"I'll show you my licence if you like," he offered.

"No, no, I believe you."

We were silent for a while, having apparently decided simultaneously to dig into our food before it got cold. Predictably, I couldn't stop the moans from drifting from my throat. When I was enjoying something, I tended to make it last as long as possible, which meant Harry was finished long before I was. He took the opportunity to order a pitcher of beer and pick up his story once more.

"I wore the hat every day for two month," he said. "I think the only times I took it off were to shower and sleep. And when we went out to fancy restaurants and my dad made me take it off. Then one morning Mom was paying more attention than usual during breakfast and noticed how dirty the hat had gotten. She decided it needed to be washed. She took it from my head and threw it in the hamper. I tried to retrieve it, to put it back on, but she snatched it back. I cried. I cried almost the whole way to the bus stop. I couldn't do school without my hat. I'd come to rely on it. It was like my security blanket." He took a shaky breath. "I hated my mother for that day. When I got on the bus the kid that had told me my hat was cool the first day I wore it asked me where my cool hat. That day I was more reclusive than I had been before Reese first forced the thing onto my head. I ate my lunch in a supply closet. I felt like everyone was staring at me."

"Didn't your mom realise how important the hat was to you?" I asked, incredulous.

He let out a laugh tinged by a darkness that could only come from parental issues. "My parents didn't know much about what went on our lives. They're socialites. Only cared about their friends and their parties and their charities that they were supporting. Not Reese and I. The only time they paid us any attention was when we needed to be present for one of their events. And then it was only to make sure we looked presentable and didn't embarrass them. I was never allowed to wear my hat to those events, so I wasn't really a problem. But Reese has always been a little more rebellious."

I wouldn't really describe the Reese I'd met as rebellious. Strong-willed, yes. But not rebellious.

"Anyway," Harry said, shaking away the darkness in his stormy eyes. "I was careful to keep the hat clean after that day. Scrubbed the dirt off it every weekend so that Mom wouldn't have an excuse to confiscate it again. That hat stayed glued to my head whenever I left the house for the next two years until it started to break down. I worried every day that Mom would declare it unfit for me to wear anymore and take it off of me. Luckily though, Christmas came around before it completely broke and I received five new hats. Mom, Dad, Reese, Gran and Paps all bought me a new hat. That was the start of my collection. Every birthday and Christmas I got more hats. It was the default present."

By this time, I too had finished my tacos, but was too wrapped up in his story to make a move.

"It was still another year before I fully retired Master Splinter," he said, absently drawing lines in condensation puddle on the table.

"Master Splinter?" I questioned.

He met my gaze again. "Did I forget to mention that I'd named the hat?" he asked. I nodded. "I named the hat Master Splinter, after the rat sensei in Ninja Turtles. I've named all my hats, in fact."

"What's this one's name?" I asked, pointing to the stool beside him where the Akubra sat.

"Bazza," he announced proudly. "Reese brought it back from Australia when she went on vacation a few years ago. Had a fling with a local while she was down there. I thought it was fitting to commemorate the relationship by naming the hat after him."

"How many hats do you have?" I asked as Becky came by to clear out dishes.

Harry didn't even pause to think about it. The answer came instantly. "Hundreds," he said. "I have hundreds of hats. And would you believe that I've only ever bought five of them?"

"You're kidding."

"I'm not," he confirmed. "Everyone just keeps giving me hats."

Well, it was a pretty safe bet for a gift as far as I could tell. He _did_ wear them every day. I wasn't sure how healthy that obsession was. Surely his reliance on the hats and the anxiety it clearly caused him when he couldn't wear one was a major red flag to his mental health. Not that I could talk with my reliance on sugar and peanut butter, but I didn't get anxious if I didn't have peanut butter on hand.

Harry's nose scrunched as he watched me across the table. "I know what you're thinking," he said. "I know I can fix the issue. I'm very aware that my need to have a hat on my head isn't healthy. I've been through therapy, and I'm actually a lot better than I was. But it's not hurting anyone. And it's fun to coordinate hats and clothes, and find a suitable hat for every situation. And really, who would I be without the hats?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. He didn't really think he was nothing without his hats, did he? "Harry," I said softly. "You're so much more than your headwear."

He sighed. "I know. I just… it's a big part of who I am, and it has been for a very long time."

* * *

 ** _How do we all feel about Harry's past?_**


	48. Chapter 48

_I am posting this chapter early for annual aging celebration purposes. Please enjoy._

 **Chapter 48**

"It feels so good to finally get out of the building," I enthused as I stepped out of the stairwell into the garage behind the pair of men I would be shadowing today. As per my agreement with Hugh and Hawk, I would only be observing and advising on today's outing, but I hadn't seen any action in so long that I was excited just for the opportunity to watch.

"You literally left the building yesterday," Bronson pointed out, opening the metal box on the wall and selecting the correct set of keys for our SUV allocation today.

I scrunched up my nose with a shake of my head. "It's not the same," I said. "Doing an install is all pretty straight forward. There's not a lot of opportunity for things to surprise you."

"You still left the building, though," Yetti agreed. "You said you were looking forward to leaving the building, not the excitement of some fugitive apprehension."

I rolled my eyes. I could already tell that it was going to be a long day. Actually, I'd predicted a long day the moment I'd picked up the files from the inbox and noted Bronson's name on the front. He was one of the only Musketeers against bring even mildly friendly towards me. I wasn't too worried about it because, as Bobby reminded me, not everyone I met was going to be my friend. If Bronson was determined to dislike me no matter what I did, all I could do was treat him with the same respect was everyone else and know that I was being a decent human being.

This would be my first apprehension based outing since I bent the rules in my first week by getting Tank to give me permission to ride out without Jerry and Shock. And although that take down had gone off without a hitch, I was stuck with some pretty low level bond. The kinds I could do in my sleep back in Trenton. I had a feeling I was going to have to work my way up from the bottom after the shitstorm that was the distraction a few weeks ago. But if that was what needed to happen for me to be a functional member of the team, then so be it.

"We ready to go?" Bronson asked impatiently. He hadn't even given us enough to reply before he was eyeing me harshly. "You have our gun?"

I tapped the gun Barrel had given me where it sat in the holster on my belt. "Right here," I confirmed.

"You prepared to use it?" he pressed.

Yetti stepped in before I had a chance to snap at the infuriating man. "She passed FR1 on Friday," he said firmly, a warning in his tone. "She's prepared."

"Sure," Bronson shrugged. "But rumour has it she obtained her target by asking if she could have it. That's hardly-"

"It _is_ how I got it," I confirmed, cutting him off before he could make any further comments on my methods. "My brief was to get it without being caught. It didn't say I had to steal it. There's always more than one way to get things done. My job, the _reason_ I'm up here, is to share my expertise in _peacefully_ returning FTAs to the system."

I could tell Bronson was not at all happy with my explanation, but, like so many other men, he chose to slam down his blank mask rather than reveal exactly how much I was affecting his calm.

Yetti let out a long suffering sigh. If Bronson was his regular partner, I certainly did not envy the man. "Do you have your epi-pen?" Yetti asked patiently.

"Of course," Bronson responded, exasperation clear in his voice at having someone else check that _he_ was prepared. To prove his point, he reached down and slid the familiar orange tube from the cargo pocket of his pants.

Yetti nodded. "Go check the SUV is fully stocked. I'll make sure Steph is ready to roll."

Without saying a word, Bronson walked off, almost disappearing amongst the identical black vehicles. If I listening carefully, I was pretty sure I could hear him muttering under his breath. Yep. Today was going to be looooong.

"Bronson's just bitter because he failed the FR1 practical first time round," Yetti explained, watching the top of the man's head wind it's way away from us. Taking a slow breath he moved his gaze to me. "I'm sure you're all put together properly," he said, and I could hear the apology in his voice before he'd even gotten to the part of his statement that required it. "This isn't your first rodeo, but let's go through your arsenal just to be on the safe side."

It took every bit of my tenuous self-control in order to not roll my eyes again. Yetti was the good guy in this situation. He wasn't doing this to belittle me, or make me feel incompetent. He was going through the mandatory field checklist to a) assist my transition into this new stage of the job, and b) shut Bronson up about it.

"Gun," I said, removing it from the holster and releasing the clip to show him. "Loaded." Putting it away, I opened one of the pouches on the belt. "Spare ammo." I unclipped the other holster. "Stun gun," I said, pulling the device out and showing him the little green light on the side. "Fully charged." I pointed to my other belt fillers and listed off, "Cuffs, cell, pepper spray, flashlight."

He nodded along. "Good," he said with a tight smile. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we."

*o*

The moment we were on the road, I decided to ask some questions that would hopefully ensure that Bronson didn't have another chance to question whether I was ready to join them today. Plus it was good for me to get a feel for how they worked so that I could give them my own pointers.

"So where are we starting today?" I asked, dragging the small stack of files into my lap and examining the names. I'd done the background searches for these guys and included my recommendations for their methods in the notes, but knowing Bronson's utter aversion to me, I had a feeling he was planning on ignoring all of them. I had it on good authority that if Bronson didn't cooperate today he was due for a meeting with Hugh that would most likely be followed by a session with Mungo on the mats. I wondered if I should warn him of this in order to get him to cooperate.

"We thought we'd start with a real easy one," Yetti explained, "Ease you back into it. So we're heading across town to pick up Stoner-Jeff."

"Stoner-Jeff?" I asked, flipping through the files in my lap. There were no skips named Jeff, or Jeffrey, or any other form of the name. First or last. Either Stoner Jeff was a late edition to the day's agenda, or it was a nickname.

"Callum Jennings," Bronson said, rather helpfully, I thought. "We call him Stoner-Jeff because the first time we went to pick him up, he was completely stoned, wandering around his house muttering, _'My name Jeff'_."

I rolled my eyes. It figures that they would stick to something like that like glue. "Charming," I commented, pulling Callum Jennings's file from the pile and flipping to the page where I'd written down my recommendations. "And what is the plan with Mr. Jennings?" I asked.

Bronson looked to Yetti, who stared straight ahead without reaction. It must be hard to be saddled with a man like Bronson, especially when he was so stalwart about _not_ participating in new movements. I wondered if Bronson was always like this, or if I just brought out the worst in him. He eyes me in the mirror before clearing his throat in an obvious prompt for Yetti to either look at him or agree to some unspoken message.

"Stoner-Jeff doesn't usually come willingly," Yetti explained reluctantly. "Generally, we just kick down the door and drag him out."

I looked down at the notes I'd made. Clearly, an executive decision had been made to ignore them. "According to the file," I stated slowly, carefully. "Mr. Jennings is a hardcore Trekkie."

"And?" Bronson grunted, his tone disinterested as he navigated the streets of Boston.

"And there's a Star Trek marathon on today," I added, hoping he would connect some dots and realise what I was saying.

"So?"

Apparently not.

I let out a frustrated sigh. Had they even _read_ my notes? I'd spelled it all out clear as day! "The marathon finishes at one. If Jennings is anything like my friend Mooner back in Trenton, he'll be reluctant to leave before it ends, but if we arrive just after one with one of Jenning's favourite treats, he may be willing to come quietly."

"That's not a bad plan," Yetti allowed, glancing over his sholuder at me. I could almost make out the tired resignation under his blank expression. "But how are we supposed to know what his favourite treat is?"

I flipped a page in the file and handed it forward. I'd already done all of the research for the, All they had to do was read the freaking file, but apparently that was too much to ask. There was a short silence as Yetti perused the information. He took longer than I would have thought necessary, given that I'd gone to the trouble of highlighting the relevant sections, but eventually he said slowly, "Grape flavoured slushy?"

"Correct," I praised half-heartedly. I couldn't give him too much credit, since I had been the one to do all the work on the subject, and he apparently hadn't even studied for the test. "Five points to Yetti," And then, because I knew they weren't ready to just do what I'd already recommended, I said, "So we should leave Jennings till later and nab someone else in the meantime. Who's next easiest?"

Reluctantly, they agreed to follow my idea and chose another skip from the shot stack we had, changing directions to go get him. On the way they explained their usual methods of convincing skips of this kind to come with them, which appeared to be exactly the same as how they generally handled Jennings. I was appalled by their lack of sensitivity and finesse. They may have enough muscle to make their methods easy enough to execute, but that didn't mean it was the best course of action. Kicking down doors dragging people out of their homes and occasionally 'accidentally' tripping them was no way to build a reputation that would encourage the citizens of Boston to trust and respect them. That was how you invited fear. They may be doing the general public a service by keeping the scum off the streets, but at what cost? How were the neighbours viewing?

I almost gagged at how very 'Burg that thought was, but ultimately, the way these men are viewed in the community makes a direct impact on how much support and cooperation they receive when they needed it. You never know when the person peering through the curtains next door is a well-respected public figure that you'll need in your corner one day.

I'd tried to coach the guys on how to be more personable with the skips on the way, but with Bronson, it was like everything I said went in one ear and out the other. He knocked one on the door, barely giving enough time for the sound to register before his boot was connecting with the solid wood right beside the lock. The door was no match for his power and caved immediately, granting us access. I followed behind Bronson as he moved swiftly into the house. A moment later, the sound of the back door being kicked in announced that Yetti had also entered the house.

This was not the plan I had suggested.

Clearly startled by all the crashing, the skip stumbled out into the hallways, clad only in a pair of boxers and a grungy, pale green bathrobe that had been left undone, revealing a large beer gut and hairy chest.

"What the fuck do you think you're-" the skip tried to demand but Bronson was already on him, shoving him up against the wall as he reefed his arms behind his back and secured them with a pair of cuffs. "What the fuck?!" he cried again, and even though it was probably too late to salvage the situation completely and build up a rapport, I felt like he deserved an explanation for this home invasion. And since neither Bronson nor Yetti seemed keen on speaking up right at the moment, preoccupied as they were by dragging him out the door, I took it upon myself to be the spokesperson for our little group.

"Bond Enforcement," I said, trailing along beside the three of them as they frog marched down the front path to the SUV. "You failed to attend your court date, so we've come to take you back to the station to be rebonded."

"Well jeez," the guy said when we'd reached the end of the path and come to a halt as Yetti opened the back the back door of the vehicle. "You could have said so in the first place instead of just kicking in my door."

"I'm very sorry about the property damage, sir," I apologised. "My associates got a little overexcited." I saw Bronson's jaw tighten and new that I was definitely getting on his nerves now. He shoved the skip into the back seat and was securing him to the bars that were installed in all Rangeman fleet vehicle for this express purpose when the skip's gaze landed on the gaping front door.

"You can't just leave my house like that!" he wailed. "Anyone could just waltz right in and take my stuff!"

"Just like you did to the residents of Fleet street during the black out?" Yetti countered.

"Not to worry," I assured skip, ignoring Yetti's quip, even though it was well deserved. "Once Bronson has you secured, he'll jog back up the path and make sure the house is locked up."

"I will not," Bronson scoffed.

"Yes," Yetti sighed, pressing the fingers of one hand to his forehead like he was attempting to stare off a headache. "You will." Bronson glared at his partner, not at all pleased with this further betrayal. "You're skating on thin ice as it is," Yetti added pointedly.

With another twitch of his jaw, Bronson turned on his heel and stalked back up the path, muttering under his breath the entire way.

Yetti closed the back door on the skip and shook his head lightly. "You're a force to be reckoned with, Steph," he informed me. "I haven't seen Bronson's panties in this much of a twist since he found out his girlfriend had been poking holes in his condoms."

I couldn't imagine anyone tolerating Bronson enough to date him, let along like him enough to want to have his babies, but chose – wisely, I think – not to comment.

"You take shot gun," Yetti instructed as he moved to the driver side door. "I don't want you in the back with the skip. You could get hurt."

"But Bronson is expendable?" I questioned.

"Bronson can handle himself," Yetti said.

I crossed my arms over my chest, jutting a hip out in a classic rendition of Jersey annoyance. "So can I," I pointed out.

"You know what I mean," he sighed. "You're only supposed to be observing today. If Hawk catches wind that you ended up injured thanks to my rookie error by letting you in the confined space of the back seat with a skip, not only will he take you back out of the field, but he'll put my ass in a sling. Now, I don't know if you know this, but I have an extraordinary ass that a lot of people would be disappointed to find out had received a beating. So please, sit in the front."

It was fairly pointless to try to argue with him on this point. I didn't exactly relish the idea of sitting next to the skip and risking having him lash out at me if someone – coughBronsoncough – said something to upset him. So I slid into the front passenger seat next to Yetti while we waited for Bronson to return.

"He isn't very patient with the whole knocking thing, is he?" I asked, peering out the window at the man in question as he attempted to get the door he'd damaged to close properly and stay that way.

"He's normally much better," Yetti sighed. "There's just something about you that sets him off."

"I don't know why," I said. "IF anyone should be annoyed by the other's existence, it should be me. He pranked me my first day here when I was learning how to use an epi-pen. And then refused to work with me for weeks."

"That's a conundrum," I murmured, but since Bronson was now on his way back down the path, we didn't teas the topic out any further, Yetti instead starting the engine in preparation of leaving. "I'll take point on the next one," he announced as soon as Bronson was settled in the back seat."

"Fine," Bronson agreed sullenly. "You get Steph, too."

That was all that was said until we had arrived at the police station and Bronson returned to the SUV from getting the skip processed. He slid into the back seat once more and wordlessly passed the files, which had been stashed in the seat pocket, forward to me.

"Who's next?" Yetti asked, eyeing the stack.

I waited for Bronson to voice his opinion, figuring that he would have already decided who we should go after next, but the car was filled with silence. When I turned to face the back seat, I found Bronson with his head tipped back and his arms crossed over his chest. Apparently he had checked out of the conversation before it had even started.

"Steph?" Yetti prompted.

My eyes snapped forward again. "Yeah?"

"Who should we tackle next?"

Right. So this was my decision now. I guess I should consider my options.

Taking a moment to sort through the files, I tucked the one we'd just completed into the glove box and moved Cullum Jennings to the bottom of the pile. A quick look at the time showed it was now ten-thirty, which meant, factoring in travel time and however long it would take to get a skip out of their house, we probably only had time for one more before we needed to catch Jennings at the end of his marathon.

"Have either of you dealt with Hodgekiss or Bowdler before?" I asked.

Yetti nodded, taking a right as we exited the police station parking lot. "Hodgekiss, yes. Bowdler, not personally, but I've heard he can be a bit of a handful."

"And Hodgekiss?"

As I watched, his brows drew together and he spared a second to glance my way. "Have we got Graham, or Felix Hodgekiss?" he asked.

I doubled checked the file. "Felix."

"Ah," he said. "That makes things tricky."

He decided not to explain exactly how Felix Hodgekiss would be tricky, and God knows Bronson wasn't being of any use. In fact, I was pretty sure Bronson took a power nap on the way to Felix's place of residence. He wasn't there, nor was he at any of the other locations he'd been known to hang out, and after an hour and a half we had exhausted the list of associates in his file. And I was beginning to understand that Yetti's door knocking skills were better than Bronson's. But not a lot better. He was patient enough to allow the residents to actually answer the door, but once the door was open he wasn't very personable. I'd seen him interact with people just fine. He seemed very human when just chatting, but when asking for information on the whereabouts of a skip, he appeared to turn into a robot.

It was a relief when we reached the end of our options for finding Felix Hodgekiss today and Bronson suggested getting a bit to eat before we headed over to Stoner-Jeff's. That relief doubled, when Yetti immediately steered a course for his uncle's diner. The warm and inviting atmosphere of the diner would be a welcome change to the cold indifference of Bronson's presence, and the robotic nature of Yetti's attempt to gain information from civilians. Every time we knocked on the door, I gave him a few more tips to be personable, but every time, he fell flat. It was cringe worthy. I'd seen better manners on a toddler. I just couldn't understand how anyone could be so clueless when it came to people.

Suzan's diner was half full of civilians when we entered, a state I'd only seen it in a couple of times before when I'd come for my cooking lessons. Usually, when Rangeman descended on the restaurant, it had been mostly cleared out by the time we arrived. I don't know how that was possible, given that as far as I was aware we had no booking. The locals must just be aware of the routine by now.

We found a table by the back wall that almost seemed like it was deliberately reserved for us, and Bronson and Yetti took the side of the table with their backs to the wall. I decided to take the opportunity to use the ladies room before settling at the table, but when I returned there was already a meal in front of my seat.

"What-?" I tried to ask, confused why I would have food when I hadn't ordered yet. I was also the _only_ person at the table with food.

"Uncle Suzan saw you come in and decided to save you the hassle of ordering," Yetti informed me. "He said this was your favourite."

I looked down at the plate, noting that it was indeed one of my favourite dishes that I'd had from here. "Sorry," I said, as I took my seat. "I don't know why- I don't-"

Yetti shook his head, and took a sip of water. "It's fine," he said. "It's not your fault. He has a real soft spot for you. And he at least took our orders when he dropped off your food this time."

I nodded, not sure of what else I could have said at that point. I didn't ask for special treatment. In fact, I'd gone as far as attempting to ask Suzan to _stop_ giving me preferential treatment last time I'd come in, but he'd changed the topic swiftly and I hadn't been able to steer it back to where I wanted it. I'd come to the conclusion that I would just have to accept it, just like I'd had to accept that the Musketeers knew my history and were attempting to treat me as normally as possible despite it. That was what I was most grateful for at the moment. So many things had happened in my life recently that and semblance of normalcy was a relief.

Yetti insisted that I eat my food before it got cold. Bronson just stared at his phone. By the time they'd receive their orders, I was finished, which gave me ample time to lay out my plan of attack on Mr. Jennings.

"I think I should take the lead when we get to his house," I announced. The look Yetti gave me told me that it would be happening over his dead body. Bronson just rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Look, you guys are great at your jobs, but you're not really taking in what I'm trying to teach you."

"I thought I did alright on those last couple of houses," Yetti said.

"You don't talk to them like they're people," I pointed out. "They're just a means to finding the skip to you. They're a source of information. You need to think about them like people. Pretend they're your family, your sisters, brothers, father, grandfather, aunt, uncle. If you remember that they have loved ones as well, it makes it easier to treat them with more care."

"I've read the files," Bronson said. "I _know_ they have families. But that doesn't matter. They broke the law, they missed their court date. My job is to drag them back into the system."

I sighed. "Have you ever heard of the phrase ' _You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar_ '?" I asked. They each gave a slight nod. "That's what we're going for here. If you're nice to people, they want to help you more than if you're terse."

* * *

 ** _Will the Boston crew ever pick up on the skills Steph's trying to teach?_**


	49. Chapter 49

_Originally, I planned on the chapter for this week just being early to celebrate my birthday. I have since decided that last chapter was a bonus chapter. Hench your eyes graced with the view of this chapter right now._

 **Chapter 49**

I treated Callum Jennings the exact same way that I would my old classmate Mooner when he forgot his court date back in Trenton. It was a little trickier, given that we didn't have the shared history for me to fall back on, but I'd learned enough about Star Trek over the years that he accepted me into his home to finish off the last episode of the marathon, slurping happily on the purple frozen drink I'd brought along for him.

Bronson and Yetti stood in the doorway to the living room, feet shoulder width apart, arms crossed over their black clad chests, and shooting me stern and incredulous looks throughout the entire half hour. I ignored them for the most part, instead focusing on the excessively large television screen in front of me, and how it was the conduit for bonding between me and Mr. Jennings.

When the credits were rolling and the little notification in the corner of the screen announced that some other show was coming up next, Callum stood, slurped up the last of his drink and set the empty cup on the coffee table.

"Let's get this over with, then," he said, turning around and holding his wrists together. I hadn't actually been planning on cuffing him, figuring he would just walk out with me like Mooner did, but I suppose Callum was used to the Men in Black busting in, cuffing him and dragging him out against his will. He didn't know any other way.

I hesitated, hand on my cuffs as I glanced to the men still lurking in the doorway. Bronson raised a single eyebrow at me, and I knew I had to do this part by the books. We were supposed to have the skip restrained to avoid unnecessary injury and lessen the chances that they would make a run for it. Giving a short nod as I accepted this inevitability, I snapped the cuffs onto Callum's wrists and started leading him out of the house. On the porch, I handed Callum over to Yetti for a moment while I locked up, and then we were on our way.

Callum made no fuss as we loaded him into the SUV, nor when we unloaded him at the station, and before we knew it, he was in a holding cell, waiting to be rebonded, and we were back out at the car, discussing the best method to get Bowdler while we buckled up.

"I know you're keen to demonstrate more skills for us," Yetti said as he pulled out of the parking lot for the second time today, "But I don't think that's wise with Bowdler. Last time we had to bring him in, he broke Frankie's finger."

I grimaced. Having broken my own finger on the job before, I wasn't exactly looking forward to a repeat event. Once was more than enough for me. "No problem," I agreed. "I'll just observe like I'm supposed to."

"Good," he said, sounding relieved. I don't know why the men always sounded like that when I gave in without argument. It wasn't like I was _that_ stubborn… was I? "I'm glad you said that, because if you didn't agree to stand back and let us handle it, I was going to have to cuff you to the sissy bar."

Bronson snorted in the backseat, which I interpreted to mean he wouldn't mind doing it anyway. "Trenton would have a field day with that," he commented.

I nodded. He wasn't wrong. "They wouldn't be especially surprised, though," I said. "Considering my first ever skip broke into my apartment and handcuffed me, naked, to the shower rod."

"Kinky," Yetti grinned, and we all fell silent until he pulled to the curb half a block down from the target's house. "Bronson," he said, unbuckling and turning to face the man. "You take front. I'll take Steph and cover the rear exit. Steph, stay out of sight and clear of doors and windows. Standard bag and tag."

Bronson, who had been checking his weapons while Yetti spoke, gave a short nod, then reached behind the back seat, coming back with what I recognised as a bullet proof vest. He passed it forward and waited until I'd taken hold of it before instructing me to put it on. He then got out of the vehicle without another word.

"Wha-?" I uttered staring at the closed door he'd just exited through. "I-" I glanced from the vest in my hands to Yetti, still in the driver's seat. "He didn't put on one himself?"

Yetti gave a small smile. "Bowdler isn't usually armed," he explained. "He's never pulled a gun or shot at a Rangeman employee that I know of."

"Then…?"

"Bronson's just taking a little extra precaution," he said, the small smile twitching on his lips like it wanted to grow into a grin.

"But why?" I asked. "Doesn't he hate me?"

This caused Yetti to laugh. "I don't think he hates you" he said. "I think it's more that you remind him too much of his annoying little brother."

"Brother?"

Yetti shook his head. "Now's not the time," he said, taking a moment to check his own weapons. "And I'm not the person who should tell you. Put that on and let's get in position."

The vest was a bit big, but not so big that it wouldn't do its job. It felt heavy, not that I was about to complain. I had a feeling that whatever it was about me that reminded Bronson of his brother, wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Once we were all on the sidewalk, Yetti and Bronson exchanged a brief glance before Yetti dragged me down the path beside the nearest house. The next thing I knew we were climbing over fences and cutting through yards until we found the right house. How Yetti knew which it was, I had no idea, but he was confident enough that I had to trust him. We sidled up to the back door, carefully positioning ourselves on either side and out of the way of the windows. I stayed silent, recognising the look of pure concentration on his face as he pressed on ear to the wall. A lot was riding on Yetti's ability to gauge what was happening out front.

I pressed my own ear to the wall as well, attempting to hear anything that might be going on, but my hearing wasn't all that in tune with small noises happening on the other side of the building, so I gave after a few minutes. The waiting was excruciating for a person who had never been accused of being patient. Every cell in my body was itching to move, or at the very least speak. There were so many questions floating through my head about Bronson and his mysterious brother. I didn't know how much longer I would be able to keep them inside.

Taking a deep breath, I was just debating whether I could ask one quick question to quench my curiosity a little in order to concentrate better, when there was a crash out front. Yetti leapt into action without hesitation. "Stay here," he instructed, kicking down the door and disappearing inside.

I'd never been very good at following instructions like that, but he was serious, and Bronson had been concerned enough to make me wear this vest. I should stay put for once in my life. I should stay beside the door and wait for them to let me know it was safe for me to come out. I should-

The unmistakable sound of a gun being fired filled the air, followed by a male shout that I could have sworn belonged to Bronson, interrupting my resolve to do as I was told. I pushed off the wall and took a single step to follow Yetti's progress through the house, but hesitated. If I went through that door, I could become trapped, and make myself more of a liability. I needed to know what was going on, first. I had to assess the situation.

Loud voices were drifting out of the house as I peeked around the corner, but I couldn't see anything. The hallway didn't lead straight out the front. Making a split second decision as another shot rang out, I hurried around the side of the house, creeping as quickly and quietly as I could toward the street side. When I reached the front corner, I peeked carefully around. Nothing to see on the small front porch or lawn. The window next to me was covered. There was no way of knowing what was going on inside unless I entered. And I didn't think I'd be met with very happy Musketeers, if that happened. So instead, I pulled my gun from belt, and skulked back to the back door. That's where I was expected to be. That's where Yetti was relying on me being.

No sooner had I taken up my position beside the door once more than heavy footsteps sounded from inside, clomping through the house, closer and closer until a large man in a stained singlet and sweatpants burst out. Acting purely on instinct, I shot off a round as he landed on the concrete path a few feet away. Lester had once insinuated that I couldn't hit the side of a barn from six inches away. He was exaggerating, of course, because I'd proven him wrong several times. I could shoot with at least _some_ accuracy. And I'd been working on it a lot more with Barrel. The problem was, I hadn't take the time breathe right and the bullet that had been intended for Bowdler's leg ended up grazing his arm. Not so much incapacitating him, as enraging him.

He spun on his heels as he slapped a hand over the wound, snarling out something that didn't register in my brain. I was locked in that moment before fight or flight.

"Run, Stephanie!" someone yelled from inside the house, breaking the spell the look on Bowdler's face had cast on me. My feet obeyed without consulting the rest of my body.

Gun still in hand, I bolted toward the side of the house I'd crept down just a minute ago, intent on my escape. I'd barely made it a few steps, though, when I was grabbed from behind and hauled up against a hard chest. I was shocked. I hadn't realised the guys were so close behind me. I was about to say something, when the arms encasing me tightened and a voice rasped at my ear, freezing the blood in my veins.

"What is this," he seethed, adjusting his grip. "Rangeman hiring whores now?" His left palm came up to roughly squeeze my breast and I couldn't do anything to stop it. I was paralysed with fear. My mind blanked. The only part of me that still seemed to be moving was my heart, thumping against my ribcage so forcefully that I thought it would break through any second. "I can see why they would want a slut like you around," he added, his other hand snaking down my stomach. "So pliable."

The blank slate of my thoughts suddenly exploded in a vision of a dark back alley, a man groping at the hem of my dress. My ears rang with obscene shouts in an all too familiar voice. Scornful expressions swam before my eyes. My head was filled with the words that had cut me deeper than any knife could ever reach. The breath in my lungs caught there, not moving. Frozen in time like the rest of me as the hand reached my belt. _This isn't happening_ , I thought, trying to shake myself free of the mental torture screaming in my head so that I could do something about the physical invasion.

His body jerked, jarring mine as well, and suddenly I was released. I knew, on some level, that I was free, no arms crushing me in their vice like grip, no hands touching me, no voice rasping in my ear. I felt like I was floating. Without the weight of my attacker holding me down, I felt like could drift off into the atmosphere like a helium balloon. As a wave of dizziness crashed over me, I gave into the floating feeling, eyes squinched shut. I was finally flying. Rising through the air. I wondered if I could reach the clouds like this.

"Steph," an urgent voice called, penetrating the fog filling my head. "Stephanie!" And then there were hands on me again. Gentle this time. I became aware of the fact that I was no longer vertical, the hands guiding me toward the ground. "Steph, can you hear me?"

Blinking my eyes open, I was met with Bronsons's furrowed brow. "Bronson?" I asked.

"Dammit, Joel," he snapped. "Why didn't you fight back?"

"I-" I started to reply, but speaking was hard. Words weren't forming in my mind the same way they usually did. Did he call me Joel?

*o*

I woke up in my bed. I don't know how I got there, or how long I'd been there. All I knew was that I was exhausted, and tucked into my bed, still wearing my standard black Rangeman uniform, minus the vest, belt and boots I knew I'd had on last time I'd been aware of myself. The memories of what happened at Bowdler's house flood my brain as I stretched. The bullet grazing his arm. Bronson yelling at me to run. The hard chest I'd thought was either Bronson or Yetti. The realisation of how wrong I'd been. The agonising, paralysing fear that surged through me as he groped, and whispered. My mind screaming out Morelli's accusations, replaying the security footage from the club.

A sob escaped my chest as I gathered my pillow tightly around my head, hiding from the reality of what had happened. I'd never frozen like that on the job. I'd been grabbed thousands of times, touched more times than I should have, never had I had that kind of reaction. As I burrowed further into the pillow, wrapping the comforter more tightly around myself to muffle the wretched sounds of my crying. I could still feel Bowdler's breath on my neck, his hands on my body. I didn't like feeling this weak. This vulnerable.

Kicking my way out of my cacoon of sorrow and wiping the tears and snot from my face, I stumbled to the bathroom, turning the hot tap of the shower on full blast, stripping my clothes off and stepping straight under the flow of water. It was scalding, but I didn't care. I needed to melt away the feeling of his hands on me. Bowdler's hands. Hernandez's hands. I needed to scrub Morelli's words from my mind.

I stayed in the shower for a long time, waiting for the water to run cool, my usual indication that it was time to get out, but it didn't. I'd forgotten that this was the Rangeman building. Rangeman, no matter the location, had a seemingly endless supply of hot water. Eventually, I turned on the cold tap to even out the temperature, stood there for a few more minutes, then spun the dials to end the torrent, reached for a towel, and stepped out. My skin was cooked lobster red, which had never been such a great look on me, but I didn't care. Right now, all I wanted to do was find a pint of Ben and Jerry's, and eat my feelings while watching Ghostbusters.

Towelling off, I wrapped my hair, moisturised to ease some of the damage I'd no doubt done by boiling myself in the shower, and slipped back into the bedroom where I pulled on yoga pants and the sweatshirt Reese had given me. When I opened up my bedroom door, intending to follow my gut to the kitchen and the tub of vanilla ice cream I'd battered with Yetti to bring into the building a week ago, I was met with three black clad figures, in various states of repose in my living area.

Bronson was on the couch, his head tipped back as he stared at the ceiling. Yetti leaned against the kitchen counter, a coffee cup clutched in one hand as he spoke to Stitch, who sat at the table nearby.

"Steph," the latter said, standing from his post and closing the file in front of him. "How are you feeling?"

"Fried," I replied flatly, moving past him and Yetti and straight to the freezer. "Why are you in my apartment?" I didn't have the energy to pretend to be okay right now.

"We wanted to be sure you were okay," Yetti said, sliding to the side so that I could grab out a spoon from the drawer he'd been blocking.

"And how do you find me?" I asked, ripping the lid off the ice cream and scooping out a large spoonful. "Am I okay?"

Yetti and Stitch exchanged a look that clearly said I wasn't, but I didn't care what they said. I stuffed the spoon in my mouth, and walked to the couch where Bronson still sat, staring at the ceiling. I sat on the cushion next to him and mirrored his pose, removing the spoon from my mouth so I could melt and swallow the ice cream. I took another spoonful in the same way and waited for Yetti and Stitch to give their diagnosis. If I'd had the energy, I might have wondered why Bronson was here at all. He'd made it clear throughout the day that I wasn't his favourite person, so why bother waiting around to see if I was okay?

The men in the kitchen went back to their quiet conversation. Probably talking about me, but I didn't care. They could discuss me all they wanted. I was done worrying about what others thought about me. A life time of agony in the 'Burg, an it took three months in Boston for me to finally grow a thick enough skin to push the opinions of others aside. Either that, or my current state had blocked that part of my brain.

"Are you gonna share that?" Bronson asked.

I let my head flop to the side, noting that he still hadn't moved. "Can you eat it?"

He turned his head to face me and I almost sobbed at the pain I saw in his eyes. "Yes," he assured me. "I can."

"You're not going to have an allergic reaction if I let you, are you?" I choked out, wanting to be sure.

"I'm not allergic to dairy," he said, returning his gaze to the ceiling. "I eat that ice-cream all the time." Closing my eyes briefly, trying to block his expression from my mind's eye, I scooped up some more ice cream and handed the spoon to him. "Thanks."

I blocked out Yetti and Stitch's conversation and Bronson and I shared the tub of ice cream, focussing only on the motion of spoon to mouth. Eventually, we reached the bottom of the barrel and had to stop, but still neither of us spoke. The men in the kitchen must have been monitoring our progress, because a moment later, the tub was removed from my hands as Stitch sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of me.

"Are you ready to talk?" he asked.

"About what?" I returned.

"About what happened with Bowdler this afternoon."

I scoffed. "I froze," I said simply. "I knew I needed to defend myself to get out of there and I just couldn't. The voices and visions in my head stole away the control of my body and I was stuck there."

"What voices?"

"You've always been just a big slut," I said quietly, my own voice devoid of emotion as I repeated the words from so many months ago. "No one has that many men trailing behind her without offering them a little taste of the honey pot from time to time. You're a slut and everyone knows it." Someone gasped. It didn't really matter who, so I didn't bother trying to lift my head and find out. "And then there a man lifting my skirt while I'm utterly defenceless. Countless hateful expressions. I couldn't escape it."

No one said anything for a few minutes. I wished they'd just get to the point of why they were here so I could get on with watching Ghostbusters and trying to deal with my life.

"That stuff about being a slut," Bronson said slowly. "Is that-"

"It's what my ex fiancé screamed for the entire food court at the mall to hear," I confirmed. "And then, because the Burg doesn't know how to keep their mouths shut, it was spread across all of Trenton by the time I got home."

"That bastard," Yetti uttered. "No wonder Tank moved heaven and earth to get you out of there as quickly as possible."

"This conversation is great and all," I said, lifting my head to look at the two men now sitting on the coffee table. "But I'd really like to just watch Ghostbusters and fall asleep, right now. So if you could get to your point and leave, that'd be great."

Stitch and Yetti shared another glance. "We're worried about your mental state," Stitch announced with no further preamble. "You've been through a lot in the last few months and it's taking a toll on you. There are deep seeded issues that you need to deal properly in order to fully recover from it. You are being put on mandatory stress leave for the next week and it is strongly advised that you seek professional guidance in the form of a psychologist. We attempted to bring the company psychologist on board for this, however he is unable to offer his assistance at this time. Our recommendation at this point is that you speak to Harry's sister Reese and ask for a referral to one of her colleagues."

I nodded. That all made sense. I probably should have gotten psychological help years ago. Who knows the extent of the damage my mother had inflicted on my brain throughout my childhood? "Okay," I agreed, rising from the couch.

"Where are you going?" Yetti asked, standing to follow.

"To get my phone," I said. "I need to call Harry."

* * *

 _ **In case anyone is curious, I got a head cold for my birthday. My family says I'm not allowed to regift it...**_


	50. Chapter 50

_GOOD MORNING! (or afternoon, or evening, depending on when you are reading this... but right now it's morning for me... at least for another 58 minutes.) Work has started back properly for the year now, so my writing time during the week has diminished significantly, however, I am attempting to make up for it with extended writing sessions on the weekends in order to keep up with my posting schedule. Fingers crossed it works..._

 **Chapter 50**

"I thought Stitch put you on stress leave for a _week_ ," Harry said by way of greeting as I entered the tech lab. He wore a pair of safety goggles under the brim of his red spotted bucket hat. Behind the goggles, his brow was furrowed, stormy grey eyes shining with concern.

"He did." I confirmed, grabbing a second pair of goggles from the clearly labelled drawer, and putting them on as I slid onto a stool across from him. I wasn't sure what he was doing, but I thought I should take the safety precaution just in case. It's hard to forget the first time I came down here, when he'd freshly destroyed the camera in the corner.

"It's only been three days," he pointed out, carefully putting down the tools he was using, scrutinising me closely. "What are you doing here?"

Pulling a small container from the pouch pocket of my "Not Today" sweatshirt, I slid it onto the counter, careful to leave a buffer zone between it and the equipment Harry had been using. "I baked cookies this morning," I said with a shrug. "It's my first time baking without supervision and I wanted a second opinion on them.

All this was true. I'd baked cookies this morning, and after sampling one and noting that something about the flavour was off, I'd decided I needed a second opinion. But the bigger truth was that I was bored and lonely up in my apartment. Everyone knew I wasn't good at staying put, or following directions, and while I wasn't necessarily told to stay in my apartment for the week, I didn't really have much else to do.

To be honest, I didn't know what to do with myself in Boston. I usually spent my day off tidying my apartment and grocery shopping. I'd now spent two whole days bumming around my apartment and I was starting to go stir crazy. I had no friends up here to go visit. There was no burning desire to go shopping. And all the tourist attractions I'd found in my online search while the cookies were in the oven were historical site or learning based. No, thank you.

Harry kept his gaze on me as he removed one of his gloves and retrieved a cookie from the container. He maintained eye contact as he brought it to his mouth and took a bite, chewing slowly. I could tell the moment the odd taste registered. He tried to school his expression, to hide his reaction, but I saw it. Harry didn't have the blankest blank face in the company, and I had lots of practice with some of the best in the business. His eye twitched, lips puckered for a fraction of a second before he was calm once more, expressionless mask in place.

"Interesting," he said, covering up a slight gag with a cough.

"Terrible," I corrected, unable to help the laugh that bubbled up. "I should have warned you."

He nodded emphatically. "You really should have," he agreed. "What is in these?"

I shrugged. "That's the thing," I said. "I followed the recipe to the letter. I don't know what went wrong."

Narrowing his eyes, he replaced the cookie in the container and slipped his glove back on, picking up the tools and continuing to work. "If you already knew they were bad, why did you need to get a second opinion?"

"I was bored," I confessed. "I needed to get out of the apartment." And away from the live feed of Rex having the time of his life going up and down that wretched elevator Tank, Bobby and Lester had constructed for him. I still maintained that it was a death trap, but I couldn't deny that Rex seemed to enjoy it.

"Why don't you go out and do some sightseeing?" he suggested, pressing a his tool to the circuit board in front of him and emitting a sizzling sound.

"I'm not really in the mood to look at a bunch of historical monuments," I told him, cradling my chin in my hand as I leaned an elbow on the counter. "It reminds me too much of school. And I was never good at school."

"You could always fly back to Trenton for a couple of days?"

Shaking my head, I fiddled with one of the tools that had drifted to my side of the table. "My first psych appointment is tomorrow," I told him. "It's not worth it."

He seemed to think about that for a few moments, removing the goggles and scratching his head under the bucket hat. It made him look like he was in high school. If I didn't look below his neck I could almost believe he was seventeen, on a field trip. "What would you do if you had this much free time back in Trenton?" he asked.

"I'd probably go to the shore."

"The beach?" I nodded, and he shucked his gloves, pulling out his phone, typing something in. He set it down on the bench, and started tidying the bits and pieces of the project he'd been working on, gathering a few piles and unplugging the tools. "What's your favourite part of going to the beach?"

"Watching the waves." I didn't even have to think about it. There was something so mesmerising about the way the waves rolled and crashed. Sitting on the sand, safe from it's reaches, made me feel like I was invincible. Like nothing could touch me.

Harry was packing his equipment away into the drawers that lined the room, now. I hadn't realised he'd moved from the counter until he asked, "You don't like swimming, or sunbaking?"

I chuckled. "First of all, I've never had a decent tan in my life," I told him. "I don't tan. I burn, I blister, I peel, and I'm straight back to this lovely shade of alabaster."

"It _is_ a nice colour," he pointed out, gesturing with a handful of wires. "It contrasts nicely with your dark hair."

I didn't know what to say to that. I'd never been particularly fond of my complexion, or my hair. The latter and I were constantly at odds with each other. As if it sensed that I was having ill thoughts about it, a lock of hair flopped into my face. I don't even know where it came from, because the rest of my hair was secured in the pony tail. Tucking it back behind my ear, I watched as Harry moved from drawer to drawer, putting things away in their proper place. He seemed so calm in his surroundings. It reminded me of the way he and Reese had moved around their shared kitchen when I'd visited after Stitch told me I needed to get help.

His phone buzzed on the counter, and he returned to check it, typing out a quick reply. Tucking it back into his pocket, he finished packing away the equipment, and turned to face me. "Go get your purse," he said. "I'll meet you in the garage in five minutes."

*o*

"Where are we going?" I asked. We'd been on the road for twenty minutes, stopping only briefly at Harry's house for him to change into jeans and a red t-shirt, and grab a bag. He'd been tight lipped about our destination the entire time, and I was starting to worry. I was pretty sure he was supposed to be at work right now. And I was pretty sure the texting that had happened prior to his announcement that I should get my purse had been him requesting the afternoon off.

"You'll see," he assured me, repeating the same line he'd used every other time I'd asked. It was frustrating. And more than a little concerning. If this had been any number of other men from the Boston office, I would have been on the phone trying to get someone to come rescue me. It wasn't that I thought the Musketeers had ill intentions toward me – I'd overheard enough of the conversation between Harry and Jaws in the diner bathroom to know how far that was from the truth – I just didn't know most of them well enough to blindly trust them when they wanted to take me to a mystery location. I'd spent so many hours with Harry that it was becoming difficult to recall what it was like before he was in my life.

"At the very least," I said, trying a new tactic. "Can you tell me how much longer?"

He shook his head, smiling in a self-satisfied way. "Patience," he murmured. "I know it's not your strong suit, but you should give it a go." A groan escaped me, prompting Harry to chuckle. "You were the kind of kid that was up at the buttcrack of dawn, feeling all the presents under the tree on Christmas morning, weren't you?"

"If Santa still came, I'd still be like that."

We were quiet for a few minutes then, me watching the unfamiliar world go by, him concentrating on driving and thinking about God only knows what. Probably how good he was at keeping secrets. Just when I thought he might have managed to slip into his equivalent of a driving zone, he spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence that had grown between us.

"So tell me about nine year old Stephanie," he requested. "What on earth possessed her to jump off the roof?"

I gave a snort, but couldn't find it within myself to feel embarrassed. He'd bared his soul to me last week, revealing just how insecure he'd been as a child, and by extension, just how much he still relied on coping mechanisms he'd developed during those years. It must have taken a lot of courage to reveal that to me. The least I could do was share with him one of my own misadventures. It's not like it was some big secret. Ask anyone in the Burg and they could recount the events of that fateful afternoon. Even people who hadn't been born yet knew my tale.

"Nine year old Stephanie was convinced she could fly," I informed him. "I'd read a bunch of Superman comics and decided there was really nothing to it. If some guy in glasses could do, surely I could, too. I'd tried launching myself off various platforms throughout the house and yard, as well as in the school playground, but nothing had given me enough air time for the powers I knew I had inside me to emerge and take control before gravity pulled me back to the ground."

"Gravity is a harsh mistress," Harry agreed.

I nodded. "Anyway," I continued, feeling I owed him the whole story. "That day, my sister, Valerie, had told me in no uncertain terms that I _could not_ fly. She went all out with science and logic, but I didn't agree with her. I knew that if I just put my mind to it and got enough height, that could soar through the air and away from my mother's persistent nagging. So, I tied a sheet around my neck as a cape, climbed up on the garage roof, and jumped." A smile curved my lips upwards as I remembered the feel of the wind whipping in my face. "The fall lasted, maybe, two seconds," I estimated, unsure of how long it takes to fall from that height, because to me it had lasted a whole lifetime. Then it was over. "But it was the best two seconds of my life."

Harry was grinning as he stopped for a light. "That's what she said," he said, throwing a glance my way.

"Very funny," I quipped. "Anyway, I guess I've spent the rest of my life having my wings systematically clipped by the Burg. I'm not sure I can fly anymore."

The light turned green, but Harry was still staring at me, a furrow between his brows. I pointed to the light, prompting him to move the car forward. "To quote the forever young Peter Pan," he said. "All it takes is faith and trust."

I hadn't really pegged him for a Disney fan. Picturing grown men watching animated films about princesses wasn't something I did often. Unless I needed to cheer myself up, in which case I pictured Tank in a big, pink, poufy dress singing along to the movie with all his heart. It had never happened in real life, but some days I got the feeling that if I suggested it at just the right moment, he might be up for it. It couldn't be that much of a stretch, right? I mean, Bobby's favourite Disney movie was Beauty and the Beast. He'd cried during that movie. Surely Tank and Lester had a weakness for a certain Disney movie as well.

"Well, if you ever find some pixie dust," I said, reminding him of the vital ingredient he'd forgotten, "Let me know and I'll be the first to try it out."

He murmured that he would keep that in mind, steered the SUV around the next corner and I could have wept my gratitude as I spotted the unmistakeable signs of a beach at the end of the street. Sand. Ocean. People in board shorts and bikinis even though it was still pretty cold out.

A sudden warmth spread through my chest and travelled down my limbs, chasing away the melancholy that had settled over me in the last few days. "Harry," I whispered, not wanting to speak too loudly, just in case it was a mirage. "I-"

"You're welcome," he said gruffly, driving slowly down the street as he searched for a place to park.

"You didn't have to do this," I said sternly, even as my toes itched to feel the sand between them.

"If I _had to_ do this, it wouldn't be as enjoyable," Harry observed. "As soon as something is an obligation, the fun is drained from the situation, no matter the company or entertainment." He avoided looking my way as he pulled into a space right by the path that lead down to the sand.

"What did Hawk say when you asked to leave work early?" I asked quietly.

"Have fun at the beach," Harry replied easily. Too easily. And he wasn't looking at me. We'd already parked, but he was staring straight ahead at the car in front of us. There was an odd expression on his face that I couldn't quite read, but I certainly didn't like it. If this man was sacrificing his job for me…

"No, he didn't," I stated firmly, crossing my arms over my chest and turning to face him. "What did he _actually_ say?"

His nose scrunched for a second, and I thought he was going to deflect again, change the subject, or get out of the car, but he didn't. Instead, he sighed, shook his head, and looked down at his hands where they had dropped to his lap. "Hawk has a thing for Reese," he informed me quietly. "He agreed to let me have the afternoon off in exchange for some information."

"What kind of information?" I could kind of see how Hawk and Reese might work together, but I could also see how Reese might devour him alive. She was strong-willed and opinionated, and while both of those words could also be used to describe Hawk, I had a feeling he was more of a gentleman than he let on most of the time.

"When Reese would be home," Harry said finally turning his eyes on me. "What time it might be convenient to call. The usual."

"The usual?"

Harry shook his head again, but smiled. "Hawk is not the first Rangeman to express an interest in my sister."

That was interesting. How much interaction did Reese have with the guys to warrant that much attention? "Does Reese ever reciprocate this interest?" I asked.

Harry laughed, a short sharp sound. "Let's just say I've endured my fair share of morning-afters," he said.

* * *

 _ **I hope your Friday goes well and you have a stress free weekend.**_

 _ **Go out there and slay your own dragons.**_


	51. Chapter 51

_Happy Friday! I am currently typing with a very needy cat sitting on the table between me and the laptop, butting her head against my chin. I love my dear Soot, but she chooses very inconvenient times to demand my attention._

 **Chapter 51**

When I arrived back at Rangeman that night, the taste of McDonald's special sauce still lingering on my tongue from the quick dinner we'd grabbed on the way, I felt much more relaxed than I had since Stitch's announcement of my mandatory stress leave on Monday. I was pretty sure stress leave was supposed to relieve stress, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect on me. The more time I spent not working and keeping my mind occupied, the more stressed I got. This afternoon, walking on the soft sand, staring out at the crashing waves of the ocean and just chatting with Harry was exactly what I needed.

I swiped my access card in the door of my apartment and almost slipped on a piece of paper lying on the floor just inside. It must have been slipped under the door while I was out. Picking it up, I closed the door and dropped my handbag on the kitchen table before unfolding the paper and reading the note.

 _Stopped by to talk.  
Let me know when you're free.  
\- Bronson._

What would Bronson want to talk to me about? How stupid I was for not fighting the skip the other day? I didn't really need that in my life right now. I was feeling pretty good and wasn't looking to screw up my mood before bed. Deciding to ignore the note, I dropped it beside my bag and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and made my way to the couch. Ghostbusters, I knew, was already loaded in the DVD player, and it would only take a few button presses on the remote control to have it playing on the screen and lulling me to sleep.

The movie had barely started, however, when there was a knock on my door. I paused. Looked to the entry way. I hadn't had many visitors in the 2 months I'd been in Boston. In fact, I could count on one hand the number of people I'd had come to my door.

"Who is it?" I called.

"Bronson," Bronson called back.

I groaned. I thought by not calling or texting, or getting in contact with him in any way, shape, or form, that I had avoided a confrontation for the night. Apparently, I thought wrong.

Hefting myself off the couch, I padded to the door and took a deep, cleansing breath before opening it to reveal Bronson's average-to-large form looming on the other side, clad in a pair of basketball shorts and a loose maroon t-shirt with a university logo on the front. A quick flick of the eyes downward revealed a pair of flip flops on his feet. I don't think I'd ever seen a Rangeman dressed like this. Even when I caught a glimpse of Tank taking the bins out at midnight, he'd worn proper shoes. I'd thought there was an unwritten rule forbidding flip flops. Clearly not.

"Hey," he said when I'd been staring at him for perhaps a few too many seconds.

"Hey," I replied.

"Can I come in?"

"I don't need to hear how-" I started, but he shook his head, cutting me off with the solemn expression on his face.

"I'm not here to berate you," he assured me. "I just want to talk to you about some things. I owe you an explanation."

"You owe me nothing," I said, and would have dearly loved to close the door and get back to Professor Venkman and his colleagues, but that look on his face spoke to something deep inside me, and I found myself stepping back to allow him entry. He took enough steps to allow me to close the door, but made no move to sit anywhere.

His gaze followed mine to the living area and the TV screen that was clearly paused and he grimaced. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Nothing of importance," I assured him, because now that he was here and being all considerate and human, I couldn't get the other night when we'd shared a pint of ice cream. The pain in his eyes had been so potent that it had made my chest ache. I'd been worried he'd been making a suicidal decision when he'd requested some of my ice cream. There was something going on beneath his tough, uncaring surface, and for whatever reason, he wanted to talk to me. I'd be a terrible person if I turned him away now. "It's just Ghostbusters. I've seen it a million times. I could probably quote the entire movie backwards if I had to."

He looked thoughtful for a second as he continued to stare at the screen. "You mentioned wanting to watch Ghostbusters the other night, too," he said slowly.

I nodded. "It's like a security blanket," I explained. "I watch it when I need comfort."

Bronson's head turned back towards me at that statement, a concerned tilt to his eyebrows. "Should I- Do you need- Are you okay?" he stumbled out.

"I'm fine," I assured him. "I also watch it when I'm happy, tired, bored… It's a movie for all occasions." He nodded then, but still continued to stare at me. "Shall we sit?" I asked, gesturing with one hand to the couch, and to the small kitchen table with the other.

Bronson took one stiff step toward the sofa and the decision was made. We settled on opposite ends of the couch, a whole cushion separating us. I'd turned sideways so that I was facing my visitor, but Bronson was perched on the edge of his cushion, elbows braced on knees as he stared straight down at his clasped hands. His shoulders were slumped and I almost felt sorry for him, not that I could think of a single reason why I should be. He obviously needed time to get to the reason he was here, and for the first time in my life, I had no problem waiting in silence. Maybe it was the Big Mac still filling my stomach making me comfortable. Maybe it was it was healing power of the ocean. I don't know, but I waited.

After several minutes Bronson took in a lungful of air so large his entire body expanded, and sat up straight, turning to mirror my position. "Sorry," he started. "I had every intention of getting straight to the point, but I didn't realise it would be this hard."

"What would be this hard?" I asked quietly. The longer he was in my apartment, the more I got the impression that he was not here to tell me how stupid I was for the way I acted in the field the other day. There was something troubling him, and for whatever reason it was important to him that he share it with me.

"I want to tell you about my brother," he said, meeting my gaze and letting me see that same pain that I'd witnessed when we'd shared the ice cream. "Joel Johns. He was four years younger than me. Always following me around as a kid. Absolutely idolised me. Wanted to be just like me. Basically, the most annoying little brother God had ever gifted anyone in the history of the world. Even as we grew into adulthood he never lost that urge, so when I decided to join Rangeman, he was right there behind me. But Joel wasn't like me. He tried to be. He put on the tough exterior, but deep down he cared a little too much. He was a people person. He was curious to a fault. And when it came to skip tracing, he erred much more on the same side that you do than he did on the side of the rest of us."

He paused and looked back down at his hands. Another deep breath lifted his shoulders. I could feel the emotion running off him in waves. This wasn't an easy conversation for him. I was starting to get a hit at what might have happened to Joel Johns, and if the twisting in my gut was anything to go by, it wasn't a happy ending. There was a very good reason I hadn't met anyone named Joel in this company.

"What happened to him?" I asked, pushing past the lump forming in my throat to give in to the curiosity thriving in my heart.

"He died," Bronson said quietly, lifting his head not to look at me, but to stare straight ahead at the television. "He trusted the wrong skip, and got his neck snapped as a result."

I gasped.

I don't know what I'd been expecting, but for him to come right out and say it like that. Just a statement of fact. No emotion. No beating about the bush. Just the words that told me of the tragic past he had lived through.

"That's why I didn't want to work with you," he continued, still avoiding looking at me. Part of me was grateful, because it gave me the opportunity to take in his body language. Fists clenched, shoulders hunched, jaw tight, knee jigging. "My brother died doing the kind of thing you're trying to get my colleagues to do, and I just couldn't condone it."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't know."

He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. "I know you didn't," he said. "It's not your fault. You're just doing what you're told. You weren't to know that the Boston office avoids treating people as people because that's how one of our own got killed. There's nothing wrong with your methods in the right situation, we're all just a bit wary of the consequences. Me especially. I lost my brother. I was supposed to take care of him. Protect him. I failed. And I just can't-"

"That's why you got me to wear the flak vest," I breathed.

"I can't stop them from snapping your neck," he gritted out. "But I can prevent a fatal bullet wound."

I reached forward and laid a hand on his forearm. "Thank you," I said solemnly.

Bronson moved his gaze to the hand but made no move to evict it. "You shouldn't be thanking me," he said bitterly. "I was an ass."

"Maybe," I agreed, scooting onto the middle cushion so I wasn't leaning across what felt like the Grand Canyon. "But you had the best intentions."

It was then that he finally tuned to face me. The pain from the other night was clear in his gaze, but his jaw was still tensed. "Joel was never really suited to the kind of field work he was doing," he explained. "And now that he's gone, I wish I'd been more insistent on that fact when he was alive, because maybe if he'd listened to me, if I'd made a compelling enough argument. He would still be here."

From where I was sitting, it seemed like a pretty damn compelling argument. His brother had died doing what I was known for doing. Trusting, and coercing when I should probably be cuffing and dragging. It had always annoyed me when my mom complained about my job, because she'd been nagging me about my choices my entire life. This was just another in a long line of things she didn't approve of; it wasn't a proper Burg job. But with evidence of how my methods could go drastically wrong, I had to wonder if part of my mother's protests were to do with concern for my wellbeing. I had to admit, I did end up injured an awful lot. But I still loved what I did. Was the threat of danger really a valid reason to give up something that brought a sense of purpose to my life?

"You could have died a few weeks ago on that distraction job," he went on. "Or worse. You could have been raped." Now I could see the determination in his eyes. He had told me the story of his little brother not just to explain his behaviour, but to start a campaign. He wanted me to quit. He wanted me to see some mystical light and realise what an idiot I was being. "Don't you think-"

"Thank you for this chat," I interrupted, standing from the couch and straightening my hoodie. "It's given me a lot to think about. Now, if you don't mind, I have an early appointment tomorrow and should be thinking about getting to bed."

Bronson was shocked. He just sat there on the couch staring up at me with his mouth hanging open for a few moments before he managed to pull himself together. "Steph," he said without moving from his seat. "I didn't mean to-"

"Goodnight, Bronson," I said firmly, turning on my heel and heading for the bedroom. "I trust you can see yourself out." And with that, I closed the door between us, leaning against the other side as my thoughts whirled a mile a minute through my head. I tried to listen for signs that he was leaving – footsteps, the front door catching – so that I could re-emerge and finish watching Ghostbusters, but with the clanging inside my skull, and the heavy thumping of my heart, I couldn't focus on anything outside of my body.

I'm not sure how much time passed before I was fully aware of myself and the world around me again, but when I did come to, I was balled up on the floor of my bedroom, my back still pressed against the door. My breathing was calm, heart beating at a steady, gentle rhythm, head filled only with confused thoughts. No jackhammers, no crash cymbals, no shattering glass, or banging pots and pans. It was just me and my thoughts.

I knew that what Bronson was saying was a very good point and that I needed to take the time to consider it properly, not just in theory, but how it affected my life and the lives of those I loved, those I called my friends. But most of all, right now, what I needed was to get the thoughts out of my head and into the air. I needed a second opinion. And I needed that opinion to come from someone I trusted. I needed to talk to someone in Trenton.

The next thing I knew I had my phone out of my pocket, a number dialled and the device pressed to my ear as I listened to the ringing.

"Pumpkin?" came Daddy's concerned voice after several long seconds. "Is everything all right?"

A gasp escaped me. I hadn't even thought about who I was calling. I'd dialled on instinct. "I'm okay," I told him softly, rearranging my limbs so that I was sitting cross legged instead of hugging my knees. "I just needed to talk. I hope that's okay. I know it's getting late."

"It's always okay, Pumpkin," he assured me. "You know that. Any time. So what's going on?"

I'd meant to just tell him about the job and the stress leave and Bronson's suggestion that I quit the fugitive apprehension business, but apparently my brain and my mouth weren't communicating all that well at the moment and I ended up starting right at the beginning. I shared everything that had happened to me since I'd arrived in Boston. The good parts. The bad parts. The parts that were ambiguous in nature. And eventually I got to Bronson and his story about his brother. The similarities he'd drawn between me and Joel. The plea he'd sent out across the couch cushion toward me.

When I was done, Daddy let out a low whistle. "I thought you moved to Boston to get away from the drama, Pumpkin," he said. "Not dig yourself into a different hole."

"I know," I moaned. "But it seems like every time I take a step forward, I'm dragged straight back to wI haehere I started. If not further. I don't know what to do!"

"What is your heart telling you?"

I sighed. "That I should consider this information seriously, because my safety should be my number one priority," I admitted.

"You're clearly already doing that," Dad pointed out. "What's your next step?"

"Go to my psych appointment tomorrow morning," I said. "Sort out my issues. Get better mentally."

"And?" he prompted.

"Examine my options?" I guessed. "Make a pros and cons list? Speak to some of the guys and get their opinion on the matter?"

I knew that Daddy was only on the other end of the phone line, but I swear I could see him nodding his approval. "Just remember, though, Pumpkin," he said. "The opinion that matters most, when it comes to your life choices, is your own."

* * *

 _ **Fun Fact: As of last Sunday, I have written more that 36 000 words this year.**_


	52. Chapter 52

_This week as been sooooooooo looooooooonnnnggggg. I had an argument with my brain on Wednesday night that is was NOT in fact, Friday, and that we could NOT post yet, but at the same time it felt like Monday... I have no idea what was going on, but I'm gonna blame the 40 degree (Celcius) heat we were treated to. *melts*_

 **Chapter 52**

I stared at the message I'd typed out on my phone, my thumb hovering over the 'send' button, hesitating. The text was simple, to the point, but phrased like I wasn't riding my entire future on the reply I would receive. It was nonchalant in a way I definitely didn't feel at the moment. I tried to keep Dad's advice in the forefront of my mind: The only opinion that truly matters when it comes to my life is my own. The only problem with that was, I'd spent so much of my life living by everyone else's opinion that I wasn't even sure what my opinion _was_.

My mother and her Burg ideals had been imposed on me since birth, and when I'd been old enough to make my own decisions, the only thing I'd known was that I'd strived to do the exact opposite.

Now that I was older, I could recognise how those decisions, while exhilarating, were not truly decisions about how I wanted to live, they were rebellions against a force that I finally had enough power to make a stand against. I hadn't decided on a course of action hat appealed to me overall, I'd chosen something that would get a rise out of my mother. And the rest had followed in a kind of natural flow. Once I'd made the original decision to rebel, everything else just sort of happened.

Going against my mother's vision for me had certainly made me happier than I would be as a Burg house wife right now. I'd never been up for that kind of life. But the life that I currently had, where I was constantly recovering from some sort of disaster, having my life threatened every other week, did I really want that? I'd never really thought about it, but maybe there was a way to be me without enduring all the crap I'd been through in the last few years.

I hit send on the message and set my phone down on the coffee table in front of me. I'd need to wait for a response, but I didn't want to up my already heightened anxiety levels by staring at the phone while I waited.

As it turns out, I may as well have just kept it in my hand, because ten seconds after I set the device down it was ringing. I picked it up once more, slid the button to accept the call and pressed it to my ear.

"What the hell is this?" Bobby demanded.

"Survey question," I replied evenly.

He let out a frustrated growl. "I can see what you've labelled it," he said, "But this is not a survey question. Survey questions are 'scrunch or fold?' and 'Do you like pineapple on pizza?' Not this."

I didn't know how to justify my action without explaining the events that had lead to me sending that text. "Bronson came around last night," I started, detailing everything we'd spoken about. "It gave me a lot to think about," I finished a couple minutes later, not adding that I'd thought about it almost all night, only managing to get to sleep just as the sun was starting to crest on the horizon. That kind of information would just make Bobby worry.

When he spoke again, his tone was much softer than when I first picked up the phone. "You can't lt other people's opinions rule your life, Bomber," he implored.

"I'm not."

" _Survey Question: Should Stephanie Plum quit working in the field as a Fugitive Apprehension Agent?"_ he read pointedly. "That sounds an awful lot like giving other people's opinions power over your life."

"Bobby," I sighed. "I just learned that someone doing what I'm doing died on the job as a direct result of their methods. My methods. I'm gathering information to _inform_ my decision."

"How many people did you send this to?" Bobby asked.

"Everyone in the Trenton office," I admitted. "And a few in Boston."

He sighed loudly in my ear. "What are you going to do with the information once you have it?" he asked. "The decisions about your life shouldn't be left up to a forum like this."

"The forum is not the final decision," I told him firmly. "I just need to know how many others feel the same as Bronson."

"It doesn't matter what everyone else thinks, though!" Bobby practically yelled. "What matters is what you feel comfortable with, whether you think you have the skills and the know-how to continue on the path you're on. And even then, there are options to remedy it."

I shook my head. "The problem is, all that evidence that says I'm a disaster, the car explosions, and the rolling in garbage, and everything else that happens to me on a regular basis," I pointed out. "Am I really any good at my job? Or am I just endangering everyone around me and myself?"

"How many disasters have you had since you moved to Boston?" he asked.

"At least two," I replied immediately. "There was the distraction job where I was drugged, and then the other day when I was grabbed, and I froze, unable to do anything."

"So that's two events that you would classify as disasters in the almost three months you've been working in Boston," Bobby summarised. "How often did you experience disaster level events down here?"

"If I got through a week without something happening I'd consider myself lucky," I calculated. "But my time in Boston can't really be used as an accurate comparison. I've only been out in the field three times, if you don't count installations."

Bobby made a sound that told me he was considering this information, so I tried to wait patiently. "Okay, so if we think about this mathematically, you were out in the field every day in Trenton, and had an incident at least once a week, correct?"

"Yes."

"So that's one out of seven, which makes a…. fourteen percent chance of disaster every time you stepped outside." He paused to allow that information to sink in. I wasn't sure how he came up with that number, but it felt high. "In Boston, you've been in the field three times… is this including the distraction?" I made a noise of confirmation and he continued is math rant. "We'll discount that time. A distraction is a completely different situation than you are usually in. So that's two times in the field. And one disaster."

"That's fifty percent," I said. I didn't need to be a math genius to figure that out. One out of two is half, which is fifty percent. "That's so much worse than Trenton."

"The smaller the data pool, the more the average is skewed," Bobby explained. "We can't compare the two accurately until you've spent a similar amount of time in the field in Boston that you did in Trenton."

I sighed, tipping my head back to lean on the back of the couch the same way Bronson had the other night. "I'm not sure I'll survive that kind of data collection," I admitted. "I'm barely surviving now. I-"

"Bomber," Bobby said, interrupting me. "Just forget this stuff for now. Work on easing your trauma for now and the rest will follow. You've got your first session today, right?"

"Mmhmm," I glanced at the clock on the wall. "In about an hour."

"I should let you go," Bobby said. "But promise me you won't make any snap judgements on your life based on the responses you receive from this stupid survey."

"I promise."

*o*

"Can I help you find anything?" asked the sales assistant as I wandered about the shoe department. She was young, almost too young. Probably only just old enough to be legally employable.

"No thanks," I assured her. "Just browsing." And for once in my life, it wasn't a lie. So often I will come into a department store looking for something specific but when a sales assistant asks if I need help finding anything, I assured them I'm 'just browsing'. I just don't want or need some perky human acting like they're my friend and trying to sell me things I don't need. I just want to get what I came fore and get out, and if that means I have to double back through the same four aisles for half an hour before I find it, then so be it.

"Let me know if you need assistance," Little Miss Sales suggested with a warm smile as she continued past the aisle I was in, leaving me blissfully alone once more.

I didn't need shoes. I don't think I've ever really needed shoes when I've ended up in the shoe department. It was just one of the few places I'd found that put my mind at ease. The shoe section, the beach and on my couch, watching Ghostbuster were my three go to calm down spaces. I'd already watched Ghostbusters three times this week, and it wasn't really the kind of mood I needed right now. Harry had taken me to my first Boston beach yesterday, which had helped immensely at the time, but right now, shoes is where I needed to be.

Something about the fact that my feet were always the same size, regardless of what my waist was doing, was comforting. And there were always people milling about in a way that didn't happen at the beach or in my living room. Sure, there were people all around at the beach, but they always seemed to be running and laughing and playing, just blatantly flaunting their happiness. At the mall, no one was presenting that kind of excessive emotion. There was happiness, yes, but it was shown in a more subdued way. A way that made me feel less like an alien for not being as happy as them in that moment.

Pulling a pair of sparkly, blue stilettos in my size off the shelf, I made my way over to one of the benches and sat down, slipping off my canvas sand shoes as my thoughts rolled back an hour to my first session with Doctor Miran.

He was completely different to everything I've ever imagined a therapist to be like. For a start, he was young. Not as young as the sales assistant still lurking at the end of the aisle, trying to help people who didn't want, or need a child to find their shoe size, but younger than I'd expected a psychologist to be. In my head, all therapists were at least sixty.

Dr. Miran, or Jeffrey, as he'd insisted I call him, was about my age, maybe a little younger, but that didn't make me doubt his abilities at all. He treated me like a real person, not a patient. The entire hour just felt like one long conversation. And insightful conversation that gave me some things to consider, but in no way made me feel like I was crazy, or inadequate, or being analysed.

I'd rambled a lot about things that had happened with Morelli and at work and how I didn't know if I was suited to the job I was doing.

Jeffrey had nodded and suggested I take my focus off work. "At the moment," he said. "You're living in the same building you're working in. You see that same people day in and day out, and when you take time to do something other than work, it's still with those same people. All of them men. Perhaps," he said, shifting his small round glasses up his nose. "You need to find some friends beyond your colleagues. Someone you can hang out with to escape the testosterone pool you swim through every day."

I nodded, even though I wasn't sure how I was supposed to make friends outside of work. I'd never really tried seeking out new friends and acquaintances as an adult. The people I counted as friends these days were either carried through from my childhood, like Mary Lou and Mooner, or people I met at work, like Lula and Connie, and all the Merry Men. How did adults meet people?

I'd voiced this conundrum to Jeffrey when he'd asked what was on my mind, and he'd just smiled and said, "Maybe you need to take some time to be alone with yourself first, then."

So that's what I was doing now. Taking some time for myself the way I used to. It felt like ages ago that I'd wandered aimlessly through a shopping mall by myself without a specific purpose driving my actions. It was freeing. I didn't have a schedule to stick to, or anything in particular that needed to be bought. All that existed was me and the shelves of goods.

Taking a deep breath, I stood from the bench to test out the sparkly heels. The action was familiar. I can't tell you how many pairs of shoes I've tried on in my life time without any intention of buying them. It was soothing: knowing that I wasn't going to buy the shoes, but that no one would complain when I left them behind.

Eventually, I did leave all those shoes behind. My stomach had begun rumbling a while ago, but I'd been ignoring it, in favour of walking my feet through as many different situations as I could. Each new pair of shoes I slipped into brought with it an image in my head of the kind of person that would wear them, and as I tested them out, I tried to imagine myself _in their shoes_ , so to speak; living their life. Needless to say, I couldn't picture myself living many of them and being happy.

I headed to the food court for lunch, determined not to think about the fact that the last time I'd been in the food court, my ex-fiancé had yelled accusations of infidelity and more for the whole town to hear.

 _This isn't Trenton_ , I reminded myself as I joined the line at the sandwich shop, looking around at the sea of unfamiliar faces. _No one knows me here. I'm safe from prying eyes and judgemental whispers. I'm_ safe _here._

I repeated these thoughts to myself as I ordered and waited for my food, but by the time I took a seat at one of the tables, I didn't need it anymore. Not a single person had spared me a second glance, let alone given me the side eye or leaned in to their companion to whisper behind their hands. There may be gossips in this town – it was only logical, there were gossips in _every_ town – but I wasn't on their radar, and that gave me confidence that I could get through a whole shopping trip without worrying about what other people were thinking about my choices.

Finishing my sub, I stood, feeling lighter than I had in days, possibly weeks. A smile snuck onto my lips as I tossed my rubbish in the trash can and headed for the supermarket. I needed to replace that pint of ice cream Bronson and I had devoured the other night, and a new loaf of bread wouldn't go astray either.

As the lightness followed me through the mall and into the grocery, I decided to pull out my phone and call Reese, she'd played a big part in my current feeling of contentment and freedom, and I needed to let her know how grateful I was for her help.

"Good afternoon," Reese greeted merrily upon answering the call. "If you're calling to thank me, you know where to send your gifts of gratitude; I appreciate a nice sav blanc, or a massage gift card. If you're calling to complain, you have the wrong number."

"I'm not calling to complain," I assured her, picking up a basket and making a bee line for the frozen section. "Dr. Miran is great."

"He better be," she said. "After all the years I let him study from my notes, I'd hope at least _some_ of my genius would have rubbed off on him."

I let out a soft laugh, locating that same brand of vanilla ice cream Yetti had approved, and dropping it into my basket. "Is there a particular brand of wine you prefer?" I asked. I'd never been much of a wine drinker myself. It went straight to my head, side swiping my inhibitions along the way, so I didn't really have any go-tos that I could draw from. If I was drinking, it was either cheap beer at home, or cheap margaritas out.

"I was joking about the gifts of gratitude," she said firmly. "Knowing you're getting the help you need is all the thanks I require."

"But if you had to choose…?" I pressed, keeping an eye out for bread as I made my way through the store. Reese told me her favourite wine, but I have to admit it went straight in one ear and out the other. My French was deplorable at best, and I couldn't even begin to figure out how to spell the syllables she'd uttered. I reached for a loaf of worthless white breat – my favourite – that had been stranded at the back of the shelf. "Ya know what? Why don't you text that to me instead?"

Reese's husky chuckle, along with the sound of finger nails tapping against glass, filled my ear as I dropped the bread next to my ice cream and turned to make my way back out of the aisle. Instead, I stopped dead in my tracks as I came face to face with a face that felt out of place in the supermarket.

"Hey," I greeted. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Oh, hey," he replied. "Yeah, just picking up some essentials." He gestured to his cart that held an assortment of fruits and vegetables. "You?"

"Same," I announced, hefting my basket as proof.

"Who are you talking to?" Reese asked in my ear.

"I just ran into Hawk in the bread aisle," I informed her, making an apologetic face at my supervisor. I'd just shuffled a little to the left in order to squeeze past his trolley when Reese's voice, filled with mischief, stopped my movements.

"Tell him I said _hi,_ " she requested.

Working hard to keep myself from grinning wildly, I told Hawk, "Reese says, 'hi'." And had to double down my efforts to prevent the laugh that threatened to burst out of my chest when his face immediately turned the colour of tomato ketchup.

"I… uh… um," he stammered, hands moving restlessly on the hands of the shopping cart. "H-hello."

I did smile then, allowing a lopsided little smirk to lift one corner of my mouth. "He says 'hi' back," I informed Reese, but based on the laughter that was already travelling across the line, I'd say she'd heard his halting, nervous response. "I should keep moving," I told Hawk. "I still have a few more errands to run."

He just waved me on, having apparently been rendered speechless by Reese's second hand attention, and I hurried out of the aisle and out of the store, stage whisper to Reese about how evil she was to play with a man's feelings like that.

"All I said was _hi,"_ she pointed out easily. "I can't help the fact that he has a school girl crush on me."

"Do you have any feelings for _him?_ " I asked, genuinely curious.

Reese snorted. "I'm sure my brother has, by now, mentioned some of my past _relationships_ with his – well, your – colleagues. They are, as I'm sure you're aware, well-built, fit, and healthy. Their stamina is long lasting, and, in my experience, their talent for physical pleasure, higher than the average man on the streets," she paused to let that sink in. "At this point, knowing the kinds of details Harry would leave out, I assume you think of me as some kind of Rangeman Village Bicycle, but I assure you, I do not indulge these men's physical desires on a whim. They have to work for it if they really want it, you know? I'm not easy. I'm not a whore."

"Good to know," I choked, but all I could think was that if Reese had been Burg Born and Raised, she would have been crucified by now, maybe even subjected to some light exorcism as they tried to cleanse her soul of the demons that were causing her to sin. Morelli had accused me of sleeping with the Merry Men, and the rest of the neighbourhood had gone along with it so easily. Imagine what they'd do if, like Reese, I actually _was_ allowing Rangeman employees to share my bed.

* * *

 ** _I'm back up to being three chapters ahead! With another chapter half to three quarters written on top of that! This week, I wrote out the chapter containing the conversation that started the whole story idea off! Which means the end is almost in sight!_**


	53. Chapter 53

_It's been a whole week since I wrote anything of value. I got Lynette Noni's latest book "Vardaesia" on Friday and spent every waking moment over the weekend (my usual writing time) reading it. And then I had a major book hangover. And when I finally got back to writing, I realised that I needed my notes that I couldn't find. So nothing got written. BUT! I still have chapters in line for the uploading, so we're all good here!_

 **Chapter 53**

 _Six Weeks Later_

"Pass the pliers," I requested, holding two bits of wire in one hand as I held the other out toward Harry. He slapped the tool into my hand like a surgical assistant, leaning in closer to my shoulder so that he could see what I was doing more clearly. "Am I doing this right?"

Rather than answer verbally, Harry's arm came around, his hand guiding mine to slightly etter angle before letting go. "There," he said by my ear, so close I felt his breath gazing my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. "So what was your meeting about this morning?" he asked, effectively distracting me from my physical reactions so that I could focus on the task at hand: installing my first camera.

"Oh, you know," I said nonchalantly, handing him the pliers back over my shoulder. "Just my future at the Boston office and the company in general. Nothing much."

"Oh," Harry uttered, matching my tone. "Just another Tuesday then?"

"Pretty much. – Screw driver? – So, basically, Hugh called me into his office and – hold that? – Hawk was there too, and they had Tank on speaker phone."

"Tank?" he questioned, adjusting his grip on the casing I was now attaching to the ceiling so he could point to one of the pre-drilled holes. "Start with that one. It must have been serious if Tank was called in."

I made a hedging face as I lined up the screw with the hold and the screwdriver with the screw. "For any other employee, I can see why you would think that," I said. "But Tank and I…"

"- Are besties?" Harry supplied when I paused to concentrate on the power tool in my hand. "- Go way back? – Are twins who were separated at birth? – Have a psychic connection? – Once shared a night of questionable morals in a hotel in Mexico?"

Finished with that first screw, I lowered it to peer over my shoulder at Harry. His face was much closer than expected, but I didn't let that throw me off. He often invaded my space while we were working together these days. "Friends, Harry," I said, completing my paused sentence with a laugh. "Tank and I are friends. Having him in on the conversation helped me feel at ease. He knows how my mind works better than a lot of people and he knows how to calm me down when I get worked up or overwhelmed. He really is just a teddy bear in a grizzly costume."

Harry shook his head. "Your experience of Tank is so different to any I've ever heard of," he said, not that it was news to me. When I'd first arrived here Q had freaked out when I'd called Tank to let him know I'd landed. And those first few weeks, any time I'd mentioned the big man it had been met with a hiss of breath and furtive glances. Safe to say Tank was not as friendly to these men as he was to me. "I'm pretty sure most men who have the misfortune to interact with Tank come out the other side with soiled underwear," he added, pointing to a hole directly opposite to where I'd just screwed. "This one next."

We were quiet while I finished mounting the camera and climbed down from the step ladder we'd borrowed so that we could both reach the ceiling. I packed away the electric screw driver while Harry pulled his iPad out of the tool bag and started opening up the program needed to test the function and positioning of the camera.

"So what is your future at Boston Rangeman?" he asked, passing me the device and watching carefully as I commended the camera to move this way and that.

"For now they're happy with my progress with this stuff," I said gesturing to the camera and the iPad while glancing from the display to the area the camera would be recording. "Do you think we could get it to turn a little further to the left?"

Harry examined what I was pointing to on the screen and climbed back up the ladder to adjust it. "You've come a long way in the last four months," he agreed. "Another couple installs and I think you'd be able to fly solo."

I didn't think so. I was pretty sure if I was sent on a solo install, I would accidentally make their car explode, even though none of the work I do has anything to do with touching clients' cars. "You're wrong," I told him. "It'll probably take a few more than that for me to feel confident in my skills."

"You're being too hard on yourself," he said, starting back down the ladder. "How's that?"

Checkng the scope of the camera once more, I nodded. "Better."

"Great," he said. "I'll finish connecting it to the network, you start prepping the next one."

I nodded again, handing over the iPad as he adjusted his beanie, and I suppressed a tingle as his finges ghosted over the back of my hand. It wasn't the first time it had happened in the last couple of weeks, which, I supposed, had something to do with the emergence of my jelly donut hormones. Nothing I did had sated the urges that normally lay dormant unless aroused by outer influences. I'd upped my sugar intake, doubled my self-pleasure, but no matter what, I was always left _wanting._ This was _not_ the way my hormones usually worked, and I was starting to worry that my efforts to hit my reactions to Harry weren't quite hitting the mark.

Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and picked up the ladder, carrying it around the corner to where we'd marked out the next camera location. No sooner had I climbed the ladder, however, than Harry had appeared, hanging up from what must have been an important phone call. His eyes were hard, face blank, muscles tensed. It was a side of him I hadn't been privy to often. The apprehension agent side. The serious, this-means-business side.

"We gotta go," he stated shortly, approaching the bottom of the ladder. He held it steady as I climbed down waiting until I was on solid ground before explaining the situation. "A skip's been reported entering his home not far away," he said, folding the ladder and carrying it and the tool bag I noticed was already slung over his shoulder. "There's a matter of a few _hours_ left on his bond agreement, so we need to act fast."

"Why us?" I questioned, trying to ignore the butterflies taking flight in my stomach. It had been six weeks I'd been on a house call that didn't require me to help install or inspect a security system. It wasn't that I'd ultimately been deemed unfit for the field, I'd actually managed to pass my second field readiness exam last week, it was more the fact that I was still working through some issues and I wasn't sure if I was at a point in my recovery where I could be relied on in the field.

"We're closest," Harry said simpy, taking the drill I still held and and somehow tucking it into the tool bag effortlessly. "No one else is going to able to arrive in a reasonable amount of time."

"But," I protested. "I _just_ told Hugh and Hawk this morning that I wasn't ready for apprehension work yet, and they agreed. Why would they allow-"

"Because it's an emergency, Steph," he said gently, dropping the ladder beside the SUV so he could open the back and start loading our equipment. "They wouldn't hve allowed it if they didn't think you were capable" he added. " _I_ think you're capable." Shutting the door, he turned to face me, laying both his hands on my shoulders. "You can do this," he said quietly. " _We_ can do this. _Together_."

I nodded, but between the frantic butterflies and the lump now forming in my throat, I couldn't form a reply. Instead, I made my way around to the passenger side door and hauled myself inside.

My phone dinged at the exact same time as Harry's. "That'll be the info packet," he said. "I'll plug in the address, you open up the file and play the highlights reel for me."

I knew he'd given me an instruction, and I even knew what that instruction was, but for some reason the signals my brain was sending to the rest of my body, the instructions to move, were getting lost, or blocked, or destroyed before they arrived at their destination. I understood what I needed to do, but my body was refusing to do it.

"Steph?" Harry's concerned voice reached my ears, cutting through the thoughts of everything could go wrong. "You okay?"

Blinking, I shook my head to clear my thoughts and sent him a reassuring smile, even if was a little strained. "Fine," I said.

He seemed to consider my words and my resolve for a second before giving a short nod and starting the engine. "So tell me about bachelor number one," he requested in a TV host voice, probably hoping to lighten the mood I'd plunged us into.

"Steve comes from a broken home," I explained, clinging to the levity he'd introduced. "He lives with his brother and girlfriend, but frequently spends weeks away from the listed residence. He was arrested for assault with a deadly weapon." I paused, re-reading that piece of information as my heartrate skyrocketed.

"You can back out if you need to," Harry said, glancing over as he paused at a cross section. My face was probably white as a sheet.

"No," I said. "I have to do this. It's like getting back on a horse, right? Even though this horse is deadlier than the ones I'm used to."

"You'll be fine," he assured me, reaching across the console to squeeze my hand. "I'll take the front door and do all the work, all you'll have to do is give chase if he tries to run away."

Unbidden, the scene from six weeks ago sprout in my mind's eye. A pair of strong arms imprisoning me. A gruff voice in my ear. A paralysis I couldn't escape. But I shook it off and met Harry's concerned gaze. I didn't come this far just to be back in the same place again. I've been facing my fears, working on my mental blocks. My past does not control me.

"I'll take the front," I suggested. "I've taken down dozens of the guys recently. I can handle it. And being confronted with a weak girl will probably catch him off guard. We have a better chance then."

"You're not a weak girl," he pointed out, guiding the car to a stop. "And I'm not sure I want to leave you alone with him. "

"I remember reading this file now," I told Harry. "He went out of his way to ensure the women present at the time he attacked the store clerk didn't get hurt. He's less likely to lash out at me."

"You're sure?"

"Yep," I said confidently. _Fake it til you make it, right?_

"Okay," Harry breathed. "Let's get this over with, then."

*o*

It happened in a flash. Literally. One minute, I was chasing our skip (and Harry – Jesus Christ, was he fast or what?) down the sidewalk of his suburban street. The next, there was an explosion of noise, and light, and _heat_ , and I was laid out on my back on the concrete, dazed and confused. I could still feel the waves of heat coming from somewhere nearby, and there was a pain at the back of my skull where I'd probably hit it on my way down.

Carefully, so as not to do more harm than the pavement already had, I moved each of my limbs in turn, checking for paint that might indicate a more serious injury. I was relieved to find all my arms and legs not only still attached in the right places, but also pain free for the most part. I was just starting to drag myself into a sitting position, accompanied by a rather unbecoming groan, when I heard the sound of hurrying feet approaching.

"Holy shit," they exclaimed, taking in the scene, and that I was upright, I could see that this had al the makings for a typical Bombshell Bounty Hunter disaster: flaming car, injured Stephanie Plum, witnesses. "Steph, are you all right?"

I cut my eyes from the fiery wreckage that used to be our SUV to Harry, now lowering himself to his knees beside me. "I'm okay," I said automatically, reaching up to shift that one stubborn curl out of my face. In doing so, I brought Harry's attention, which had been scanning my body for obvious injuries up to my face. I'd just opened my mouth to ask what happened to the skip we'd been pursuing when I caught sight of his eyes: wide as dinner plates and locked on my hair.

My hands flew upwards to inspect whatever had caused such a shocked reaction, but he caught them before I could make contact.

"What?" I asked, struggling to wrench my hands free. We hadn't covered this kind of hold in my sessions with Mungo, but you could bet your bottom dollar I'd be requesting it next. How many times had I been caught like this? "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he lied, swallowing quickly as he tried to get his expression under control. He transferred both my hands into one of his and reached up to his own head, sliding the beanie off and adjusting his grip on it so that he could tug it deftly down onto my head. "Nothing to worry about," he told me, a strained smile stretching across his lips. "All good."

I shook my head, doubled my efforts to get free of his grip. "Harry, what's wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing," he repeated firmly. "Just promise me you'll keep Jimmy on until you're back in your apartment." Jimmy, I knew, was the name of this particular knitted cap. I'd taken to asking the name of each hat he wore ever since our Taco night when I'd learned they all _had_ names. "Promise me," he said again when I once more tried to pull my hands out of his.

"What happened to my hair, Harry," I demanded.

He sighed, running a hand through his own. "It looks a little… crazy."

I watched as his hand made another pas through the blonde locks, recalling his discomfort when he'd had to remove his hat for dinner. "What about you?" I asked, reaching up when he finally released my hands to finger the edge of the soft, forest green material.

"What _about_ me?" he asked, eyes widening. " _You're_ the one who got blown backwards by the explosion."

"But the hat," I pointed out as he once again shifted his hair. "Don't you nee-"

"I'll be fine," he said, and I could tell by the way he said it that it was the end of the discussion. If I continued to press the matter, it would likely make him even more uncomfortable, and since he was already putting his comfort on the line for my hair, I didn't want to aggravate the situation. "Your need it greater than my own at the moment," he told me.

In one last ditch effort, I tried to tell him I'd be okay, that I'd walked around covered in garbage and that some extra frizz wouldn't be much of a comparison, but he wouldn't have it, and then the emergency services were there, and our Rangeman back up too, and everything was a flurry of activity as we gave our statements and I managed to convince the paramedics I was fine. It was touch and go there for a minute or two when Harry tried to protest and point out that I'd hit my head and should go to the hospital to get some scans done, but he'd dropped the matter when I'd sent him a pleading look and reminded him that I hated hospitals.

"Fine," he'd eventually conceded defeat, leading me to the back door of the waiting SUV. "But I'm getting Stitch to check you out the second we get back to Rangeman."

And he had. As soon as the SUV – full to brimming with a double load of Rangeman teams, since the SUV Harry and I had been using had gone to that big Rangeman fleet vehicle graveyard in the sky – had pulled into the parking space, he was leading me to the elevators with a firm hand at the small of my back. We stepped out on the third floor and he accompanied me all the way down the corridor, past the lab, to the medical suite where Stitch was already at the door, waiting for us. Harry must have texted him on the way back.

"What seems to be the problem?" Stitch asked once I was situated on the exam table.

"She got caught in the blast from an exploding car, flew backwards several feet and hit her head on the pavement," Harry explained, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he paced back and forth behind the medic.

"Thank you, Harold," Stitch said quietly. "But I was asking Steph." He returned his attention to me, eyes flicking over my beanie covered head, then over to Harry's naked one. "Do you remember everything Harry said happened?" he asked. "Did you lose consciousness at all?"

I shook my head, no, but even as I made the action, I knew it wasn't right. "I might have blacked out for a second or so when I landed," I said.

Sharing Harry's concern for my head injury - not that I could really blame him, it _was_ quite painful – Stitch gently pulled off the beanie I wore, handing it off to Harry as he suppressed a shocked gasp at the state of my hair. Getting to work, he began poking and prodding and shining that stupid little light in my eyes as he asked a series of boring questions to assess my pain and cognitive state.

Eventually he wrote something down in my file – which, I might add, was significantly thinner than the one Bobby had down in Trenton – and hand me a bottle of water and two pills. I swallowed them obediently, relieved to learn that they would (hopefully) help with the pain while not affecting my drowsiness. I was grateful for this fact, because I hated it when my ability to function was taken away from me.

"Go home and get some rest," Stitch said, crossing his arms over his chest and watching with a furrowed brow as Harry tugged his beanie back down over my hair. "I'll be up to check on you in a few hours," he added, giving Harry a look that I couldn't quite interpret through my current blooming headache.

"Okay," I agreed easily, hopping off the table. I new the drill well enough by now. "I'll leave the door unlocked for you."

He shook his head. "No need," he said. "I have a master key for emergency purposes."

I nodded, thanked him for not sending me to the hospital, and made my way to the door. Harry tried to follow, but Stitch called him back. He protested, but Stitch wasn't having it., and now that the excitement of the day was over, I was in desperate need of a shower and a nap, and to finally find out what was wrong with my hair. I sent the pair a lazy wave, and made my way back down the hall to the elevator, pushing the button and leaning against the opposite wall while I waited.

When the doors eventually opened, taking much longer than usual to arrive, I was confronted by no less than five men already filling the small box, not only with their physical forms, but their raucous laughter. It cut off abruptly, though, when they caught sight of me. I noticed a few widened eyes as they took in my appearance, but I was beyond caring.

Ignoring the, I stepped inside and pressed the button for the fourth floor, turning to face the doors, ready to escape the moment they opened. I could tell they were still staring, between the feel of their eyes on the back of my wool clad skull, and the fact that I could see them gawking in the reflective surface of the elevator doors.

"Uhh…" one of them uttered after a tense couple of seconds.

I sighed. "Just your typical Bombshell Bounty Hunter disaster," I told them.

"But that hat…?" another said.

"Once again, my hair has fallen casualty to my disaster-magnet ways." As the doors opened and I stepped out, I waved my goodbye, briefly taking in their shocked expressions. "I'll be fine," I assured them. And then the doors were closing.

I shook my head – slowly, so as not to invoke the wrath of the swell adorning the back of my head – and started down the hall. Barely six steps into my metres long journey, I came across Tree, locking his apartment while balancing a travel mug and a file in one hand. I tried to slip past him without engaging, but he had other plans.

"Hey Steph," he greeted with a grin, slipping his key fob into his pocket. "Nice hat."

Unable to ignore him without feeling rude, I smiled in return. "Thanks," I said. "It's Harry's. He leant it to me to-"

"Harry's?" Tree questioned, his eyes narrowing. "Are you sure?"

How could I not be sure about something like that? I thought, but instead of voicing it, said, "Yeah, he took it straight off his head."

Tree almost dropped his coffee. "W-why?" he asked, stooping to peering even closer at the beanie.

Another sigh escaped me. I didn't have the energy for this. "The Bombshell Bounty Hunter finally came out to play and managed to do something awful to my hair," I said. "Harry offered his hat to cover it up until I could fix it up."

"Nah-uh," he breathed.

"I assure you that's what happened," I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

"No," he said, brows furrowed the same way Stitch's had been during my medical examination. "I just meant… See, Harry doesn't share his hats. With anyone. So for him to share his hat with you… Are you getting married?"

"WHAT?" I exclaimed. "It's just a hat!"

Tree shook his head. "Harry's hats mean more to him than the air he breathes," Tree pointed out. "For him to share his hat with you he'd have to see you as an extension of his own soul, or he wouldn't even consider it."

"But-"

"Think about it," he said. "How often have you seen Harry without a hat?"

I thought about it, but only one moment came to mind: taco night. "Just once," I said quietly. "But that doesn't mean anything. He –"

Tree raised an eyebrow at me. "I've never seen Harry without a hat," he pointed out. "The guys and I have had a theory for a long time now, that the only person Harry would take a hat off for is someone he loves. So this beanie on your head? That's a proposal. And you've clearly accepted it. You're getting married."

* * *

 _Do I hear wedding bells? Or is that just the sound of someone who's been absent for a while returning in the next chapter?_


	54. Chapter 54

_Welcome to a bonus mid-week update. Because I feel like it, and I make my own rules. But also because y'all reviewed very well last chapter._

 **Chapter 54**

A wave of dizziness came over me as the lights of St. Francis hospital finally came into view. I'd been fighting increasing bouts of pain, dizziness and micro sleep for the last hour, and probably should have pulled over for a nap, or pain killers or something, but I just couldn't. I had to get to Trenton. I had to get to the hospital. I had to be there for the man that had always been there for me when I was injured. It was only right. Bobby had stitched me back together more times than I could count, the thought of him lying in one of those wretched hospital beds turned my stomach. I needed to see for myself that he was all right, that he was getting the second best care possible. There was no way he could get the best care, when he wasn't treating himself, but hopefully the doctors at St. Francis were taking care of him.

It was a miracle I hadn't caused a major accident on the roads tonight. Five hours driving non-stop from Boston to Trenton with a fresh head injury was not part of the recommendations for superb driving conditions.

I pulled into a parking space, turned off the SUV I'd commandeered, and released my seatbelt, snippets of the evening racing through my head. Staring eyes. Beanie marriage proposals. Phones ringing in my ear. No one answering my calls. Hal's voice informing me that Bobby had been seriously injured, and Tank and Lester were at the hospital with him. My stomach lurched at the remembered words, and I only just managed to push open the car door to direct the stream of vomit onto the parking lot pavement.

Feeling better with that out of my system, I did my buckle back up, closed the door and pulled back out of the space, searching for somewhere else to park where I wouldn't have to dodge around my own vomit to get in and out of the car. It didn't take long. At this time of night the lot was mostly empty. Visiting hours long since over. I adjusted the beanie, still ignoring whatever it was hiding. I had bigger worries than what my hair looked like right now. Like whether or not Bobby was okay.

My footsteps echoed on the pavement as I hurried toward the bright lights of the entrance. It wasn't until I was a few metres away that I noticed the large, black clad figure standing just to the side of the doors, shadows falling across his form. Even at this distance, with the dark obscuring his features, I knew exactly who it was. There was no mistaking him.

His head jerked up at the sound of my approach. "Nevermind," he said tersely into the phone pressed to his ear. " _She_ found _me_." And with that, he hung up and stuffed the device into his pocket.

"Tank," I breathed, pausing as he stalked toward me, the agitation clear in the way he held his shoulders, the measured length of his stride. "I-."

"What the hell, Steph?" he demanded, coming to a halt directly in front of me so that I had to crane my neck to meet his narrowed gaze. "As if I don't have enough on my plate with Ranger away and Bobby landing himself in hospital to get screwed back together, I step outside for the first time in hours to check my messages and immediately learn that you've gone AWOL? Do you know how many people are freaking out right now? You're lucky you stole a Rangeman SUV so the guys could track you, or you'd have half the country searching for you."

"Sorry," I muttered, feeling the tears I'd managed to suppress for the last several hours brimming. "I w-"

"Not only that," Tank continued to rage, crossing his arms over his chest. "You look like shit. What the fuck happened?"

The tears that had been threatening to fall up until this point started to fall. "I'm so sorry," I wailed, throwing my arms around him, despite the fact that his arms were still cross, making my hold on him awkward at best. "I was so worried. I tried calling you, and Lester, and Bobby, but no one was answering, so I called control to find out if you were in a meeting, or on a job or something and Hal told me Bobby had been injured and you were all at the hospital and I didn't think, I just-"

Tank sighed and shifted my hold on him so that we were hugging properly. "Next time, let someone know what you're doing," he said. "You could have prevented a lot of heart attacks." With a brief stroke of my head, he moved so that he was beside me and started guiding me inside with an arm around my shoulders. "I'm glad you're okay," after a minute of silence.

"What about Bobby?" I asked.

"He's gonna be okay," Tank assured me, tightening his grip briefly. "Copped a couple of bullets in the arm and leg, but they're just flesh wounds. The main concern is the broken clavicle."

"Clavicle?" I was far too exhausted and overdrawn to process technical words like that.

"Collarbone," Tank said. "It was a pretty nasty break. He's had surgery and the doctors said it should heal fine. He was just starting to wake up when I decided to come down for some fresh air. I didn't want to leave Lester alone while we were waiting in case he did something stupid. He was pretty distraught."

Just another piece of evidence to show how serious the relationship between Lester and Bobby was. Lester was usually the happy-go-lucky, make morbid jokes at the injured person's expense kind of guy. If he was freaking out over a couple of gunshot wounds and a broken bone, he obviously loved the man. I didn't have a chance to ask any questions about it, though, because Tank had stopped us at a door and pushed it open, leading me inside.

"Steph?!" Lester asked, straightening in the chair he'd pulled up beside Bobby's bed. "What are you doing here?"

"You look like you've been through hell," Bobby added, squinting at me through the dimly lit room. "What happened?"

And so, I told them my tale. I started on the install with Harry, and detailed the events of the capture we'd been called to. The foot chase, the exploding car, my head meeting the pavement, Harry giving me his hat, my refusal to go to the hospital. That's as far as Bobby allowed me to get before he was attempting to sit up more in bed, wincing at the obvious pain and discomfort the action caused him.

"You hit your head?" he questioned, concern clear in his tone. "Where? Show me? I can't believe you didn't go to the hospital. You know how serious head injuries are, Steph." He was reaching for my head, so I took off the beanie and leaned closer, grabbing his hand to guide it to the egg that had formed.

"Bobby, I'm sure she's fine," Lester said gently, from right beside me. "Stitch never would have let her travel if he she was badly injured. It's probably just a bump."

At that, Tank just snorted.

Bobby stopped feeling my head and returned to his semi-reclined position, breathing audibly as he squinched his eyes shut, probably against the pain lancing through his injuries from the movement. Lester's attention was caught between his beloved, making sure he was okay, me, making sure _I_ was okay, and Tank, trying to figure out what the derisive noise meant. "Got something you wanna share, Tank?" he questioned as I pulled the beanie back on.

"Stitch didn't clear Steph for travel," he informed our friends. "Stitch cleared her for rest, and when he arrived at her apartment a couple hours later to check on her in case she had a concussion, she wasn't there. They checked the security footage to find that she'd commandeered an SUV not long after her check-up and driven off. They tracked her route and updated Trenton control when it became clear where she was headed."

"Steph!" Bobby admonished, back to focusing on me. "That's dangerous. What would have happened if you'd blacked out behind the wheel?! You could have died! You could have-"

I let him rant at me for a bit. I deserved it. I'd been an irrational idiot, overcome by my fear and panic and confusion, acting on impulse without thought of my own and other's safety. It was exactly the kind of behaviour that had made Bronson urge me to stay out of the field. And the realisation that it was a frequent habit of mine had forced me to agree with his assessment. I decided, wisely, I think, to _not_ mention the instances where I almost fell asleep behind the wheel.

"And you need to get scans done," Bobby declared at the end of his rant.

"But-" I tried to protest, but he shook his head firmly. I imagine he would have crossed his arms if he didn't have a freshly repaired collarbone to contend with.

"No buts," he told me. "You need scans to make sure you're actually okay and that you didn't cause any serious damage. I don't care that you don't like hospitals at this point. You're already in one, so you may as well make use of it. Have you had any nausea? Dizziness?"

I thought back to the spell I'd had when I parked the car, when I'd hurled out the door, and nodded.

"See!" Bobby exclaimed. "Classic signs of a concussion. Jesus, Steph."

"Sorry," I whispered, trying not to cry again. I hated tears. And I especially hated crying in front of the guys. I didn't like feeling vulnerable, and they didn't like seeing me upset.

Lester sighed, and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, dragging me closer. "It's fine, Beautiful," he said. "You just need to take better care of yourself, and work on your impulse control."

There was silence in the room as I worked to get emotions under control again. Lester continued to hold me with one arm, gripping Bobby's hand with the other, while Tank pulled another chair up to the opposite side of the bed. "As important as Bobby's lecture on your health and wellbeing was," he said quietly, leaning both elbows on the mattress to spear me with a knowing look, one that flicked to the top of my head, then back to my face. "I can't help but think there's more to the story than you simply returning to your apartment and trying to call us, then freaking out when you found out Bobby was in hospital. We've all be injured plenty of times, and you know well enough that St. Francis gives good care for these kinds of things. What happened to cause you to panic?"

I nodded that he was right, but wasn't sure how to phrase the part of the story that they were missing. How did I tell them about the possible marriage proposal that I'd inadvertently accepted? In their eyes they'd always seen me was Ranger's property, regardless of the fact that for a while I was dating, and even engaged to Morelli. They were bound by honour and a code that transcends spoken and words to protect me, because I was _Ranger's_ woman. I didn't want to get Harry in trouble by telling them about the-

"Steph?" Bobby prompted. "Can you tell us what's running through your head?"

Taking a deep breath, I shrugged Lester's arm, smiling slightly when I noticed it move straight to join his other hand covering Bobby's on the bed. I could feel all their eyes on me, but I couldn't meet any of them. Instead, I stared at my boots. The Rangeman-issue combat boots I still hadn't taken off after such a long day. "When Stitch was examining me he kept staring at my head," I started.

"Makes sense, since that's what he was examining," Lester pointed out.

I shook my head. "Not like that," I said. "He examined the bump and did all the things he needed to do, and then when he was giving me instructions to rest, he kept staring at my head, not looking me in the eyes. Staring at the beanie." I reached up and tugged the wool down a little further. "At this. And then he'd flick his eyes to Harry. I didn't think much of it, because it was Harry's hat and nobody ever sees Harry without a hat like he was then. But then I got in the elevator, and they were all staring as well. One of them mentioned the hat, and I just explained it away by telling them I had a hair disaster. That was all the conversation we had time for before I disembarked on the fourth floor."

Just for something for my hands to do, instead of digging my nails into my palms, I leaned forward and began undoing my laces. It also served the dual purpose of helping me avoid their gazes as I explained what happened when I met Tree in the hallway: the suggestions that I was getting married, that the hat was the Harry equivalent of a proposal. "So I was already in a bit of a freak out when I was trying to call you guys," I finished up, pushing my shoes aside with my feet and sitting on my hands. "Hal's news just kinda pushed me over the edge and before I knew it I was on the highway."

"You were freaking out because the Boston men think you wearing a beanie means you're engaged to Harry?" Tank clarified.

"Uh, yeah," I said, knowing how ridiculous it probably sounded. "Harry doesn't share his hats. Ever. I once watched him threaten Lock with a knife for brushing a piece of lint off the brim of the hat he was wearing. If that's how he reacts when people touch them, it stands to reason that he would never willingly give up one of his babies to another living being. But if he saw that person as an extension of himself, if he saw that person in need and thought one of his hats could fix it, the way the hats help him get through every day, then surely the thought that the hat could be a marriage proposal isn't really that farfetched." I looked from Tank's single raised eye brow, to Bobby and Lester's equally questioning expressions. "Right?"

They just continued looking at me like I was crazy for a full minute, and I was starting to agree with them, when a voice from the door made me jump. "What was your first thought when you learned what the hat could mean?"

* * *

 _ **Okay, so I may have exaggerated a certain someone's appearance in this chapter, but that's only because in my head they all merged together... Definitely next chapter, though. I promise. And that's out Friday.**_


	55. Chapter 55

_Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed my midweek bonus chapter. You have no idea how much I ended up needing them._

 **Chapter 55**

"What was your first thought when you learned what the hat could mean?" Ranger asked, scaring the living daylights out of me as he pushed off the door jamb he'd been leaning against and entering the room properly. He looked tired, and skinny. Not slim, in that muscled way he usually had, but properly skinny. I wondered how many meals he'd had to skip in the last six months while he'd been in the wind. I also wondered how long he'd been listening in to enter with such a loaded question.

"How long have you been-"

"Long enough to know the right questions to ask," he cut me off, coming to a stop at the foot of Bobby's bed, leaning his hip against it as he eyed me critically. "Though taking in your appearance, I have some others I'd like answers for before too long."

"I'm sure Harry's take down report will make it to your email inbox before too long," I muttered, pulling my socked feet up onto the edge of the chair so that I could hug my knees.

"Babe." Ranger's eyes seemed to twinkle at knowledge that I'd once again invoked the god of disasters while on the job, but didn't comment further, instead repeating his initial question. "What was your first thought?"

Part of me wanted to steer the conversation back to my appearance, and the injuries and explosions that came part in parcel with it, but I knew better after six weeks of therapy, that avoiding topics just makes it harder to talk about, more convoluted. Ranger was trying to help me get to the bottom of my freak out. I may not want to talk about it, but I needed to. And the fact is, the moment Ranger asked the question, I knew the answer. "That we couldn't skip straight to marriage," I admitted.

"That was your first thought?" he clarified.

Nodding was all I was capable. I had no idea what to say that would put it any clearer than that. When Tree had announced that I was getting married, I'd experienced a stab of indignation that I would be thrust straight into married life with the man without ever getting the opportunity to date him properly.

Ranger nodded as well, and the silence that had fallen over the hospital room stretched out for a few more seconds before I couldn't take it anymore.

"What does that mean?" I asked desperately.

The corner of Ranger's lips lifted a little as he considered me, uncrossing his arms. "You didn't freak out because you received a random, unexpected marriage proposal from a friend," he informed me, sure of his words. "You freaked out that you'd been denied the dating period to get to know him better."

"No," I shook my head. "I'm pretty sure I was freaking out because I'd just received a symbolic marriage proposal from a close friend."

Ranger's eyes softened. "Then why wasn't your first thought denying that you and Harry could or should have a relationship?" he questioned.

"I-… I…." I didn't know. I could think of a thousand reasons why Harry and I shouldn't be together, but the second they entered my mind, my instinct was to push them aside, stuff them a box and set fire to them.

"Do you love him?" Ranger asked, eyeing me closely, carefully.

My heart was pounding inside my chest. I hadn't been subject to Ranger's scrutiny in a long time, and his questions weren't helping to easy my tumultuous thoughts. My calm was slipping away with every passing second. If I loved Harry, what did that mean for everyone else in my life? What did that mean for Ranger and my friends in Trenton? And wasn't it too early for me to fall in love with anyone after such a bitter explosion of my personal life with Morelli not that long ago? "I don't know," I said, my eyes darting from Ranger's face, to his hands as he slipped them into the pockets of his black cargo pants.

"Yes, you do," Ranger countered calmly. How could he possibly be so serene when I was falling apart?

Shaking my head, I swiped at the tears now escaping my eyes for a third time tonight. My heartrate speeding up another notch. Because the truth was, I _did_ know, but I didn't want to hurt Ranger by admitting it. "No," I said as firmly as I could through my tears. "I-"

"Babe," he interrupted on a sigh.

"I don't want to hurt y-"

He took a step forward then, removing his hands from his pocket as he knelt beside my chair, using one finger on my chin to turn my face toward him. "It's okay," he assured me gently. "You're not going to hurt me by admitting you love someone else."

A sob wracked my shoulders, and I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut against the compassion blazing in his eyes. I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve _him_.

"We've both known for a long time that I can never give you what you truly need in life," he continued, holding my gaze steadily. Trapping me.

My voice was quiet, pleading. He was being too nice. He was being too understanding. I couldn't take it. "Yes you-"

He cut me off again. "No, Babe. I can't." He dropped his hand from my chin to the arm of the chair, smiling wistfully. "I want to. God, do I want to. There would be no greater pleasure on the planet than to help you succeed in life, but we're not the right fit."

"We fit together fine," I choked, squeezing my knees a little tighter, but he just shook his head.

"There's more to a relationship than physical compatibility," he reminded me. "And with everything that's happened in your life in the last six months, I think it's safe to say can't be there for you're the way you need."

His words were solemn, sorrowful, apologetic. He wanted to be there for me. He wanted to be the man to make sure I was alright after a disaster. He had been for a long time, and there was nothing to stop him from checking on me in the future. But his statement brought forth a series of images in my brain. Memories, like snap shots, flitting through the air until they landed in a kind of collage on a mental coffee table for me to examine:

 _Harry tipping his very real hat in greeting when he met me at the airport that first day, his beard bushy, eyes kind._

 _Harry swallowing hard and telling me to enjoy my cake after he'd been told off by Uncle Suzan._

 _Harry appearing at Hugh's door, ready to 'show me the ropes' with that little tuft of blond hair peeking out at the front of his slouchy beanie._

 _Harry leading me across the break room to a small, round table that as supposed to be my desk, looking apologetic._

 _Harry speaking softly to Heath to calm him down when I inadvertently set off a phobic episode._

 _Harry at the end of the hall, head bowed so that all I could see was the top of his cowboy hat, breathing heavily._

 _Harry asking if I was_ sure _I was okay as we stood outside the medical suite._

 _Harry standing on a table in the back corner of the lab, a welding mask covering his face, staring up at the mangled camera._

 _Harry flipping up the mask to reveal his smooth, beard-free face._

 _Harry's face, full of concentration as he updated the security on my laptop to keep the likes of Q out._

 _Harry peering at me from the entrance to his house, asking if I was coming. Tentatively telling me where we were._

 _Harry offering me peanut butter like an olive branch, just when I needed it._

 _Harry leaning against his kitchen counter, texting, but looking up when I entered._

 _Harry hurrying up the stairwell ahead of me when we were called to Hugh's office, telling me he'd been a goody two-shoes in school._

 _Harry suggesting I take up residence in the tech office to get way from the men's distractions and invasions._

 _Harry helping me pack my 'desk' into a box._

 _Harry covering my hand with his, assuring me that if the lab was going to go up in flames, it would have done so long before I moved into it._

 _Harry scanning the mountain of boxes that had attacked me._

 _Harry bursting into the exam room I was working out of, a grin on his face as he stuffed a propeller hat onto his head and excitedly announced we'd been approved to go to Ikea._

 _Harry leaning against the door jamb, a navy train conductors cap atop his head and an amused expression on his face after catching me off guard. Again._

 _Harry agreeing to help me get better at my job._

 _Harry staring at me for several seconds before muttering "Thanks," and returning to his search enquiry._

 _Harry's head snapping up when he sensed my presence in the parking garage. Asking how I was after the shambles of a training session with Lester and Mungo._

 _Harry giving me a spare key to his house. For emergency peanut butter purposes._

 _Harry gazing intensely at me in his kitchen, letting me know that he's there for me._

 _Harry kneeling in front of me, a face full of concern that I might be choking on his peanut butter._

 _Harry brushing off my gratitude._

 _Harry giving me the keys to his SUV._

 _Harry's face appearing around the edge of his bedroom door the morning after the botched distraction, brows drawn together._

 _Harry siting next to me on his couch, quietly prodding me into telling him what was eating at me._

 _Harry scooting closer after showing me the security footage, listening attentively as I tried to tell him the sordid tale of my life._

 _Harry not leaving my side as I spoke to Ranger on the phone._

 _Harry urging me to put a sweater on. Nodding solemnly to confirm that it would make me feel better._

 _Harry's face crumpling into a blank mask that pulled my at my heartstrings when I accused him of keeping me prisoner._

 _Harry accidentally ignoring me for days, making me think I'd done some real damage to our friendship._

 _Harry dancing in the lab like no one was watching._

 _Harry blushing beet red when he realised_ I _was watching._

 _Harry defending me when Jason made suggestive comments in the diner._

 _Harry telling Jaws that he wanted to make sure I was okay._

 _Harry choking on his food as he hurried to clear his mouth and defend himself._

 _Harry admitting that he'd engineered a branch-wide clothespin game to help me learn to be more aware of my surroundings._

 _Harry grinning manically on the morning of my first field readiness test._

 _Harry donning a bright yellow sweater as a show of support._

 _Harry stepping aside to allow me to enter the gym without a fight so I wouldn't fail my test._

 _Harry looping his arm through mine and proudly announcing to an almost empty taco joint that we were celebrating._

 _Harry brushing his hand through his hair nervously as he sat in that restaurant. Hatless. For me._

 _Harry stuttering about our lack of ring when the waitress misinterpreted his announcement and thought we'd just gotten engaged._

 _Harry baring his soul to me as he explained the importance of his hats._

 _Harry's eyes twitching, lips puckered as he tasted my failed cookies._

 _Harry driving me to the beach to find my zen._

 _Harry leaning over my shoulder, guiding my hand as I worked the pliers._

 _Harry's breath on my cheek, sending shivers down my spine._

 _Harry's hand caressing mine as I handed him the iPad._

 _Harry proclaiming that d made excellent progress. Pride in his eyes._

 _Harry telling me we could do this. Together._

 _Harry tugging his beanie down over my head to hide whatever had happened to my hair even though it left him exposed._

 _Harry insisting I see Stitch about my head._

"I…" I started, but had to swallow, blink, try again when I couldn't get the words out. "I think I might love Harry."

As I turned my gaze toward Ranger once more, he just nodded. Knowingly.

My breath caught in my chest. I wasn't good at this stuff. My track record was pretty terrible. I'd failed every other attempt at a relationship up until this point in my life. "What do I do?" I asked.

Lester spoke up, then, reminding me that there was more than just Ranger and me in the room. "Tell him before it's too late," he said, his voice thick with emotion as he stared at Bobby.

Bobby, on the other hand, had some different advice. "But first," he directed, squeezing Lester's hand to let him know that the meaning of his statement hadn't been lost on him. "March your ass down to emergency and get your damn head looked at."

"And then maybe see a hairdresser to fix what the beanie is hiding," Tank suggested.

"And get some rest," Ranger added.

* * *

 ** _I hope your weekend goes better than the second half of my week has gone._**


	56. Chapter 56

_I've had a bit of writer's block this week, ever since writing out the moment that the entire story has been leading up to. I now am at a point where I need to figure out the what happens next and how do we get to the ending parts._

 **Chapter 56**

After spending hours talking to doctors, having glamour shots done of my newly acquired swell, and eventually having my concussion confirmed, I was discharged with orders to a) rest, and b) not drive for the time being. Ranger and Tank stayed with me the entire time, and by the time I was ready to go home for a nape, Bobby was also ready to fly the coup.

We all piled into one SUV, Bobby riding shot gun so that no-one accidentally jostled his arm. He was pretty high on pain killers right now, but there was no doubt in my mind that a bump to the arm would send pain shooting through his collar bone. Ranger was behind the wheel because, as Lester explained it, he was terrible at being a passenger, which left me wedged in the back seat between Tank and Lester.

"I can't believe it," Bobby said. "The one time I'm injured enough to land myself in hospital, the Bombshell Bounty Hunter rides in from a four hour drive with a concussion and a marriage beanie to steal my thunder.

"I didn't steal your thunder," I pointed out. "You'd already had hours of dedicated attention by the time I showed up."

"And a marriage proposal," Lester reminded him quietly, and I couldn't help but grin despite the knowledge that my own personal life was completely messed up at the moment.

While we'd been waiting on the results of my scans, Tank had recounted the events in his own afternoon that had led to them being in the hospital. He told Ranger and I about how Lester had been freaking out more over the Bobby's injuries than Bobby had. And ow when the ambulance arrived to take him away, Lester had threatened that if Bobby died before he could marry him, there would be serious afterlife wasn't the most romantic of proposals, but Bobby had grinned and blushed like a school girl, saying only, _"You want to marry me?"_

"It's not the _same_ ," Bobby whine now, turning his head as far as it would go without shifting his body and causing pain. "Steph has a cute beanie to symbolise Harry's love for her. What do I have? Nothing. Where's my token of your undying love, Lester?"

Lester let out a soft chuckle, muttering something about the effects of painkillers under his breath, but replied pointedly, "I'm right here, Bobby. _I'm_ your token of my undying love for you."

Bobby harrumphed and turned to face the front. "It's still not fair," he grumped.

"Hey," Lester said. "It's not so bad. When you compare injuries, yours is cooler. People always respect physical injuries more than the ones they can't see."

"That's true," Bobby agreed, perking up a little at the news that his injury was better than mine. "And – AND! Steph and I are twinsies! That's cool!"

I thought I heard Ranger give a light snort, but didn't have a chance to question it before Tank spoke up for the first time since exiting the hospital. "Twinsies?" he asked.

"Yeah," Bobby said, turning again to look Tank in the eye, holding up the hand that was no bound by the sling to count off our apparent twin characteristics. "Steph's concussed. I'm broken. The same. Steph's clutching a baggie of painkillers. I'm clutching a baggie of painkillers. The same. Steph's not allowed to drive. I'm not allowed to drive. The same. Steph's recently been proposed to. I've recently been proposed to. The same. Even though Steph has a visual reminder of that proposal and I don't."

And just like that Bobby's excitement had once again turned into bitterness. I have to say, drugged-up Bobby was a wild ride. It was fun being on the other side of it for once. And it helped that my own drugs were not the strong kind that sent me loopy. So far I'd managed to keep a hold of my mental functions and not embarrass myself. This really was Bobby's time to shine.

"I'm dropping Tank and Steph off first," Ranger announced into the silence following Bobby's statement. "Steph needs to nap and someone needs to check on her regularly. Normally, it would be Bobby, but he's currently incapacitated."

"Damn straight, I am," Bobby agreed.

"Tank you're in charge of making sure Steph doesn't die or run off again. You know the signs to look out for," Ranger continued, as if no one had said a thing. "Steph, I've made an appointment with Mr. Alexander for after lunch to get your hair fixed. Tank will drive you."

"Aye, aye, Captain," I said with a mock salute that almost ended with my elbow colliding with Lester's face. Bobby giggled.

"Once Tank and Steph are home, we'll proceed to Rangeman. Lester, you're in charge of making sure Bobby follows doctor's orders."

"But I _am_ the doctor," Bobby pointed out.

"I'll put on my sexy nurse costume," Lester offered.

Ranger hooked a right, ignoring Bobby and Lester's words once more, and I recognised the new street as Tank's. I could almost hear the cat's meowing as they sensed their daddy's approach. "Everyone get some rest," Ranger ordered. "We'll meet at Shorty's for a bite before Steph heads back to Boston tonight. Your flight is at sixteen hundred hours."

*o*

I'd like to say that the rest of my time in Trento was a breeze. That I'd napped easily on Tank's couch under the watchful eye of the big ma, all his cats and my hamster. That the only horror story hidden under my beanie was some split ends. That when we met up with the rest of the guys at Shorty's it was full of laughter and good times, and then I boarded a plane back to Boston with a smile on my dial and not a worry in the world.

But I'd be lying.

With all the excitement of arriving, and explaining my arrival, and prying open my soul to examine what was inside, and the batter of bright lights and prodding fingers now over, my brain was free to focus on the realisation that Ranger had helped me uncover: I was pretty sure I loved Harry. And the problem that realisation posed: what if Harry didn't love me back? What if Harry didn't see me as anything other than a colleague?

As Tank had gathered pillows and blankets from a hall closet to ensure my comfort, I'd trailed behind him, shooting worried questions at him as they formed in my mind. He'd been kind enough to answer each and every one of them as he made up the couch for me, but once his task was complete, he'd sighed, grabbed me by the shoulders and forced me down onto the cushions.

"Sleep," he instructed.

And sleep, I did. I'd thought that it would be impossible to shut down my brain and get some rest, but the stress of the day must have finally coughed up with me, because the second my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light.

Mr. Alexander had screamed and almost fainted when I'd pulled off my beanie to reveal my hair. His assistant had had to wave smelling salts under his nose and pour him a shot of something in the back room before he'd regained enough composure to address my head. He muttered, and admonished, and lectured, and prayed, and eventually pronounced that he'd down the best he could.

It was a lot shorter than it had been yesterday morning when I'd thrown it in a high pony tail, but I guess that was the price I had to pay for being caught in yet another explosion. That, and I'm pretty sure Mr. Alexander's assistant charged me double to compensate for the trauma I'd inflicted on her boss.

I wasn't sure how I felt about my new short do, so the second I stepped out of the salon, I pulled Harry's beanie back over my head. The weather was getting too warm to warrant the head gear for body heat retention purposes, but maybe I could pull it off as a fashion statement. Tank was wise enough not to comment as we made our way out of the mall and across town to Shorty's.

Everyone looked a hundred times better than they had that morning when we'd parted ways before dawn. It was clear that everyone had gotten some sleep, and run through a shower, and we were all feeling better for it. With the possible exception of Bobby.

Tank was slouched in the back corner as usual, looking like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Which, I guess, it had been now that Ranger was back in town and apparently already reinstated as Rangeman Numero Uno, if they serious conversation he was having on the phone when we arrived at our usual booth was anything to go by.

Ranger was still looking far too skinny for my liking – sleep and a shower couldn't fix weight loss – but the almost beard was gone, and the circles under his eyes had shrunk a little. It would take a bit more than a single nap to fix everything he was recovering from, but I had no doubt that he would be back to normal in no time now that he was home. He was too disciplined not to be.

And that left Lester and Bobby, occupying just half of our side of the booth as they sat practically in each other's pockets. Lester looked tired, but not in a way that diminished his spark. While Bobby looked a little strained, he was acting a lot more like his usual, serious self than he was during the drive early this morning. No doubt, he was going easy on the painkillers so that he wouldn't lose his faculties again.

We ate. We chatted. We managed to keep my mind off what was waiting for me bak in Boston. It was blissful. It was just like old times. And then I was in the passenger seat of Ranger's Porsche Turbo, bound for the airport and it all came flooding back.

"Babe," Ranger said when we were almost there, breaking the silence that had prevailed for most of the trip.

"Ranger?" I replied. He usually didn't use that tone unless he was replying to me, or if I was doing something that warranted comment. As far as I was aware, neither had occurred, unless I'd taken to thinking externally again.

"What's eating at you?" he asked, weaving deftly through traffic. I was about to tell him that nothing was eating me, but he pulled out some contrary evidence. "You haven't said anything in nearly half an hour. Not a word. And we're still on the classical station."

"You like the classical station," I countered. "You said it helps you find your zone."

"True," he agree. "But that's never stopped you from trying to change it to classic rock before. That, coupled with the fact that you've been silent, gives me cause for concern. So, do you care to share what's on your mind?"

I sighed, tugging at the edge of the beanie. I was sure Ranger knew exactly what was on my mind, just like every other time, but I needed to voice it out loud. If six weeks of therapy had taught me anything, it was that talking about my problems and worries, made them easier to deal with. Because by stating what my fears are, I'm identifying the problem, which doesn't necessarily solve it, or ease my fears, but it gives me a direction to move in.

Ranger had allowed the silence to lapse once more, probably sensing that I needed a moment to gather my thoughts and get my ducks in a row. When all was said and done, no one could fault Ranger for his behaviour in the last twenty-four hours. Everyone knew he was deeply in love with me, or at least, as deeply in love as he would allow himself to be with a person. The only thing that had kept him at bay over the years was Morelli. And even then, the distance he'd kept had been minimal.

And I loved Ranger, too. I truly did. He'd done so much for me over the years. Supported me when no one else had. For years, I'd thought that the only thing keeping me and Ranger from being together was the unhealthy relationship I kept with Morelli, but now I could see that the reasons were so much deeper than that. Ranger was the government's property. He could be called away at a moment's notice, dragged into a fight that was not his, and that he had no guarantee of escaping alive. And, as was the case with this most recent mission, he could be gone for several months without the ability or permission to contact home.

While Ranger was okay with his life of service for himself, he knew, morally, that it was wrong to inflict that life on another human being. And from what I'd seen, Ranger wasn't ready to give it up, even if he could. His sense of right and wrong was actually a lot stronger than most people tended to assume, and so long as there was still evil in the world, Batman was going to fight it.

That could mean that he would die defending the country or the people that he loved, and for that I couldn't fault him. But he was right last night when he told me he couldn't give me what I needed, because as much as I wanted to deny it, I needed stability. I needed to know that whoever I was with would be there at the end of a long day. Tank, Bobby and Lester were great substitute support in a pinch, but it wasn't quite the same when it came down to the wire.

Ranger could provide the support I need professionally all the time regardless of if he was in the country or not, because he had instilled the same values in his mend (and also may have written it into Rangeman Policies and Procedures?). But at the moment, I needed that support on a more personal level. I was staying out of the field more often than not, so I didn't need the physical rescuing Ranger had always been quick to lead. The demons I was currently battling were more internal than external, and while Ranger would always be there for me as much as he could in that respect, it just didn't feel like that relationship could be anything more than what we already had.

I'd never really hung out with Ranger for no reason. There was always an agenda, a job, a need.

But with Harry…

His laughing face dashed through my mind's eye, causing my stomach to flip. The last two weekends I's spent the evening with him, playing board games and just being in each other's presence. He made me feel at ease with who I was, and how I was progressing in life. I didn't have to play a role when I was with him, and that was truly freeing.

But…

"What if I'm making the wrong decision?" I asked Ranger.

"What decision are you making?" Ranger countered coolly.

Another sigh escaped me. Feelings conversations had always been hard, especially with the stoic Ranger who seemed to have all his emotions on lock down, only showing them when they benefitted him. "Harry," I said, by way of explanation. "What if I tell him I like him and he doesn't like me back?"

"Has he shown signs of not liking you?"

"Well, no," I grudgingly agreed, "But what if he's only interested in me as a friend?"

"Then you have that conversation, and negotiate a way for you both feel comfortable in the relationship, romantic or not, that you have," Ranger supplied easily. "But Babe, there are ways to find out about his feelings and what the hat really means without admitting your feelings for him first."

"Okay," I said, making a mental note to keep a hold of my tongue. "But what if he likes me?"

"Isn't that what you want?" he chuckled, shaking his head.

I groaned. "I don't know!" I exclaimed. "It's been a long time since I've had a crush like this, Ranger. I'm just saying, what if-"

Ranger's eyes softened. "It'll all work out the way it's supposed to," he said firmly. "Now stop worrying."

* * *

 _ **I've been working my way through Neil Gaiman's Masterclass on the Art of Storytelling, and it's really interesting, but it does mean another reason I haven't been writing this story this week...**_


	57. Chapter 57

_I'm gonna warn you straight up, this chapter may or may not be a roller coaster... And I'm not sorry._

 **Chapter 57**

I hailed a cab at the airport, having adamantly denied Ranger's offer to have a Rangeman pick up waiting for me. I didn't want to see any of the guys until after I'd spoken to Harry, but I also didn't want for it to be Harry to pick me up. Somehow, being stuck in a moving vehicle for the conversation we needed to have didn't seem very fair. To either of us.

So a cab it was, but the moment I'd settled into the seat, I was struck with a new dilemma. While I'd spent the entire flight having imaginary conversations with Harry, with varying outcomes in order to prepare myself for however he may react, I hadn't actually thought about _where_ this conversation would happen.

Heading to Rangeman ran the risk of a) being summoned to Hugh's office prior to making it to Harry in whatever location I-slash-we chose for our discussion. And if I did, by some miracle, avoid being picked up by my superiors, there was still the issue of witnesses. This wasn't exactly the kind of scene I wanted the security cameras to pick up, let along having other men physically present to overhear, or walk in mid-sentence. Especially if it didn't go well.

We could go to my apartment on the fourth floor, but I was conscious of the fact that was my personal space and if I happened to become overwhelmed there was literally nowhere to retreat to.

The cab driver was staring at me expectantly through the rear view mirror, and the decision was doing my head in. What I wouldn't give for a peanut butter and olive sandwich right now…

And just like that, the solution came to me. It was so obvious, I don't know how I managed to ignore it up until this point. I had Harry's key in my purse. And at least at his house there was more space to vent emotions. Confident it was the only suitable option, I gave the driver the address and sat back to try not to stress too much more than I already was.

I let myself into the house via the front door, as I had every other time I'd come to steal Reese's peanut butter for my own mental stability and made my way upstairs to the kitchen, already going through the processes I'd need to follow in order to have a peanut butter sandwich in my stomach. Which is why, when I rounded the corner into the room, I jumped clear out of my skin at the voice that confronted me.

"I thought the footsteps were too light on the stairs," Reese commented casually, sitting almost directly in front of me on the window seat with a steaming cup of tea in her hands.

With one hand clutched to my frantically beating heart, the other gripping the edge of the counter to keep from collapsing on the tiles in a heap, I stammered out some unintelligible words as I tried to get my reaction under control. "Wha-cha-Reee-wha?"

"It's nice to see you too, Steph," she grinned, placing her mug on the small breakfast table and leaning forward to eye me critically. I was suddenly hyperaware of the fact that my head was covered by on of Harry's hats. And Reese would probably recognise it. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"

"Peanut butter," I said, having managed to regain most of my composure. "What else?"

She gave me a knowing nod and waved me into the kitchen proper, abandoning her tea to follow a step behind, taking the bread and peanut butter from my hands as I retrieved them from the pantry and placing them on the counter. I was just reaching for the refrigerator handle for a bottle of water when I noticed – not for the first time – the collection of handwritten notes and crayon drawings on the fridge door. I was pretty sure a new piece of morbid artwork had been added since I was here last weekend, but what caught my attention was the notes. They read like your typical fridge notes between housemates, so I'd never given them much thought, but as my eyes skimmed over one, I took in the way it was signed: Not from Reese, or Harry, or even just R or H. No. These notes were all signed either J or PB. It didn't make sense. Unless, of course, these notes were left over from their grandparents and they just couldn't bear to take them down.

I examined their layout a little closer, noting the lack of aging signs and the fact that there were two now layered on top of the crayon drawing that had been clearly visible on my first visit. These were recent.

"These notes," I said, glancing over my shoulder to Reese. "They're signed-"

"PB and J," Reese interrupted, swinging around to face me, holding out a sandwich.

"Oh," I uttered apologetically. "I was actually only after peanut butter. And maybe olives. Not j-"

One of her eyebrows kicked up, and she shoved the sandwich into my hands. "It's just peanut butter," she assured me slowly, though I got the feeling she was amused by my response. "I was referring to the memos. They're all signed with either PB or J."

I nodded. "Yes. But-"

"J is Harry," Reese explained patiently, turning back to the counter where she began slapping peanut butter on another slice of bread. "I'm PB."

"I don't understand," I said. "Is it your middle names?" I knew it was wrong the second the words left my lips. Harry's middle was Erik.

Reese laughed quietly. "I can't believe he hasn't told you about this," she said. Having finished creating her own sandwich she hoisted herself up onto the counter beside the cutting board. "When we were in school," she explained. "Mom would make our lunches ever morning. I'm sure Harry's already explained how inattentive our parents were, so it should come as no shock to you when I say that while mom could remember that one of us liked peanut-butter-no-jelly sandwiches and the other liked jelly-no-peanut-butter sandwiches, she could never recall who was who, so she would just write "PB" on the bag with Peanut Butter and "J" on the one with Jelly. As a result, the labels were kind of absorbed into our identities."

She paused, taking a large bite of her sandwich. I felt like I needed to say something, but my own mouthful of peanut butter was a major obstacle at that moment. That, and I couldn't help but think about how cute it was that Harry and Reese had personal nicknames for each other. My sister and I only ever called each other by generic shortenings of our actual names. Or insults when we were younger. It just further drove home how close Reese and Harry were and had always been. I don't think I'd ever experienced that kind of closeness with anyone but Mary-Lou.

"I don't think our note signatures are what's really on your mind though," Reese added casually. "I heard through the grape vine that you-" At that moment, her words were cut off by a door downstairs crashing open and the distinct sound of clomping boots entering the house.

My heart stopped. There was only one person who that could be. Harry. Was I ready for this conversation? Was _Harry_ ready for this conversation? He didn't _sound_ ready for it. He sounded ready to murder someone. I just hoped it wasn't me. What if he saw me and just exploded? My eyes widen as the stomping started to ascend the stairs. What if-

"Now would be a good time for you to go to the bathroom," Reese said quietly, steering me toward the small upstairs washroom.

I struggled to swallow the mouthful, my half chewed sandwich getting stuck on the lump in my throat. "But H-" I gasped, but she just shook her head, opening the door and gently shoving me inside.

"Just for a minute while I diffuse the situation," Reese explained softly. "Harry needs to calm down before you can have your conversation with him."

I tried to protest again, but she just shook her head again and closed the door in my face. How had my life come to this moment? Hiding in the bathroom while the guy I was pretty sure I liked raged at his sister. His sister somehow understanding that I'd come here to talk about something important, despite the fact that I hadn't mentioned a thing to her.

"That better hadn't be my baby brother stomping up the stairs," Reese yelled, her voice muffled by the door between us as she moved away. "Because he knows how I feel about stomping."

"Quit call me your baby brother, Reese!" Harry yelled in reply, his voice becoming louder. "There's ten months between us!"

Reese laughed. "You'll always be my baby brother," she pointed out. "Especially when you've got your panties in a twist like you do now. Tell big sister what's wrong."

"Aren't you supposed to have a better bedside manner?" Harry retorted. I could almost picture the way his face would be scrunched up.

"Are you in bed?" Reese pointed out. "No. Are you even a patient? Hell no. I love, J, but you couldn't pay me enough too sort out that head of yours. Now tell me what's wrong."

"Bit m- OW! What the fuck, Reese!?" Harry cut off his own snide comment with a cry of pain, and I could only assume that Reese had actually followed his directions and sunk her teeth into him.

"You said to bite you," she said, confirming my suspicions. "No go put your sweater on."

Harry let out a frustrated growl. "My sweater isn't going to fix this, Reese," he snarled.

Reese's voice was calm as the surface of a public swimming pool just before the first wave of kids on summer vacation cannon ball in. It seemed she had endless patience in the face of her brother's ire. "Don't care," she said simple. "Go get it and put it on."

"It's got to be a thousand degrees out today!"

"It's not that hot. And you're not going out anyway."

"It's still warm inside."

"I'll adjust the thermostat."

"I-"

"Sweater. Now," Reese instructed firmly, and once again, the house was filled with the loud thumping of boots on the stairs as Harry stalked away.

I'd barely taken a moment to gather myself and wonder what exactly had gotten Harry in such a state of anger when Reese yanked the door open. (Good thing I hadn't actually used the time to go to the bathroom).

"We're gonna need milk, cookies and crayons," she explained quietly, urgently. "You handled the milk and cookies, I'll see if I can find the crayon stash."

I didn't have time to argue, because she'd already bustled away into the living room. I wasn't sure if she thought that telling Harry to put his sweatshirt with the ridiculous slogan on was diffusing the situation, or what, but if Reese said that milk and cookies were in order, far be it from me to deny the snack. Maybe then he would calm down and we could discuss where we stood relationship-wise and I could stop panicking at every turn.

I'd just finished pouring a second glass of milk when Reese appeared at my side, removing the carton from my hand and using a hand on my elbow to urge me into the living room. "I know you need to have a conversation with him," she whispered as we crossed the space at a quick clip, "but Harry needs to get some feelings out before he'll be ready for it." She paused at the bottom of the spiral staircase that led to the rood top. "Do you trust me?"

I nodded mutely.

She nodded as well. "Good," she said. "Go hide at the top of the stairs."

"On the roof?" I tried to clarify.

"No," she said, glancing at toward the stairs that led down to the lower levels of the house as the sound of a door slamming shut drifted up to us. "Just at the top of the stairs. He won't see you, but I think you need to hear the conversation we're about to have."

"Bu-"

"Now!" she hissed as Harry's footsteps started up the stairs. I didn't hesitate a second longer to scamper up the spiral as silently as possible. It felt wrong to be eaves dropping, but I was also curious about Reese's belief that I should hear what was wrong with Harry.

No sooner had I planted my ass on the highest step I could while still being able to peer down through the rails to the living room, when Harry's top hat-clad head appeared at the top of the other staircase, his torso covered by a sweater with the words "WHATEVER. WHATEVER. WHATEVER." on the front. It was definitely less fun than the last Reese sweater I'd seen him wear and I wondered whether that was an indication of his mood at the moment, or if it was just the first one he laid his hands on.

Reese was by the coffee table, setting down the snacks I'd prepared next to a pencil case and a notebook. "Feel better?" she asked, and even without seeing her face, I could tell she was grinning from ear to ear.

Harry scowled in reply. "No."

"Stop lying," Reese admonished, rounding the table. "I've got your crayons, now come sit down and tell me what happened." She took a seat on the side of the table that faced the spiral stairs I was hiding on. Probably a deliberate move to avoid giving Harry excess opportunity to look up and spot me.

He just continued to glare. "I'm getting myself a glass of milk," he stated, taking a single step toward the kitchen before Reese stopped him in his tracks.

"And cookies?" she asked in that perky way she had about her when she knew someone was in a mood. "Perfect plan, but I have that covered too." She gestured to the coffee table in front of her. "I've known you your entire life, baby brother. I know your coping mechanisms. Come sit and tell me what's wrong."

Still glaring, he stalked over to the coffee table and flopped onto the floor on the opposite side, immediately picking up a crayon and starting to scribble on the page in front of him. "I had to take Q on an install today," he mumbled. "He's useless. I ended up getting him to hold the tool box while I did everything myself."

Reese narrowed her eyes at the top of his head, reaching for a cookie from the plate. "Are you really having a meltdown over having an incompetent partner? You've spent years doing the installs practically on your own. What's different this time?"

Harry made a bold, black mark across the majority of the page, and growled, "Stephanie Fucking Plum is what's different."

My heart stopped for the second time in fifteen minutes and I had to bite my cheek to keep from gasping audibly.

Cutting her eyes to me, Reese gave a quick quirk of her eyebrow that somehow conveyed a message for me to remain calm before she averted her gaze back to her brother. "What does Steph have to do with Q's incompetence?" she asked.

Harry didn't notice her wandering eye, too engrossed in his drawing. He reached blindly for the cookie plate, stuffing one in his mouth and following it down with a gulp of milk. "Because she's _not_ incompetent," he said firmly, scratching at the page. "At anything. She may lack refinement, but she's good at what she does. All of it. And I scared her off."

"How?"

"You _know_ how, Peeb," he seethed, lifting his head, presumably to glare daggers at his sister.

Unfazed, she lifted her own glass of milk to her lips, taking a small sip. "Humour me," she requested.

He sighed, returning his focus to the drawing. I couldn't make it out from this far away, but there was a lot of black and red covering the page. Seconds ticked by as I waited for his explanation, and I became intensely aware of the sound of my own breathing. It was loud to my own ears, and I had to wonder how he hadn't discovered me yet. Surely he could hear it. He wasn't that far away. I tried holding my breath, but he was talking too long, so I just dug my nails into my palm, hoping against hope that he wouldn't turn around.

"I gave her my hat," he eventually uttered quietly. "And the guys pointed out that I _don't_ share my hats and that in doing so I'd practically proposed to her. Then the next thing I know she's taken an unauthorised SUV and driven back to Trenton."

Reese let out a low hum, flicking her eyes to me again as she took another sip. "Sounds to me like it was the guys that scared her off, not you."

His head snapped up and Reese quickly cut her gaze away as he practically yelled, "I gave her my HAT, Reese! MY HAT! And not just ANY hat! One of my FAVOURITES!"

I couldn't stop my fingers from reaching up to feel the edge of said hat. This was one of his favourites?

"Did you mean it as a proposal?" Reese asked.

He sounded almost tortured, his voice filled with quiet emotion. "Not consciously, but I-"

"Then what's the problem?" she griped.

"Because now she thinks I proposed to her and she ran away scared!" he cried. "Jesus, Peeb, I thought you were a psychologist. Shouldn't you be better at this?"

Reese shook her head, unapologetic as she nibbled a cookie. "I'm just asking the questions you need to ask yourself."

Harry, clearly just as agitated as when he first arrived home, stuffed an entire Oreo in his mouth and continued to scribble on the page. Silence stretched across the room, broken only by the soft thud of the crayon connecting with the paper and the crunch of cookies as Harry drowned his woes in sugar and wax.

"Do you like her?" Reese asked out of the blue, leaning her elbows on the table and scrutinising her brother as best she could under the brim of his hat.

"Nooooo," he replied, dripping in sarcasm with that one syllable. It didn't ease my anxiety in the least, especially when the sarcasm only got thicker as he finished his retort. "I just gave her my favourite fucking hat because I _hate_ her."

Reese smiled. "So you like her."

Another sigh rent the air. "Yes."

Reese's smile got wider, like she was enjoying pulling Harry's metaphorical teeth. I can't say I felt the same way. "Does she like you?" she asked.

"Clearly not," Harry said, and I imagined he was rolling his eyes the same way he did when I'd joked about him wearing a dress for the next distraction the Boston men needed to do. "She did a runner, remember?" he added.

"Did you try calling her?" she asked, still smiling.

"She didn't pick up."

"Try calling her now."

Harry made a derisive noise in the back of his throat and threw the crayon he'd been colouring with onto the table. "She's not gonna pick up," he announced, grabbing a new colour – yellow, I noted – and starting to add more details to the page. "And even if she did, I don't wanna talk to her right now. I'd probably end up saying something to make the situation ten times worse."

"Call her," Reese insisted.

"No," Harry said firmly.

"Call her, Harry."

"No, Reese."

"Do it."

"No."

"Do it."

Harry glared at her a moment. "No," he growled.

"Fine," she shrugged, pulling her phone out of her pocket. "I'll do it."

* * *

 ** _Blame my mother for the chapter ending at this point. I was on the fence about continuing it, but she encouraged me to do it._**


	58. Chapter 58

_For a moment just now, I thought I'd lost the last half of chapter 60 that I wrote the other day, but it's okay. I found it. I don't have to try remember what happened there. All will be well._

 **Chapter 58**

The phone in my pocket was ringing. Loudly. But I couldn't answer it. I was frozen in my hunched position on the stairs, gripping the rails with white knuckles as I stared down at Reese with wide, horrified eyes. This wasn't part of the plan. Or maybe it was. I hadn't exactly been given a step by step run down of what she expected to happen. And if I was being honest with myself, I needed to acknowledge the fact that my presence was going to have to be revealed eventually. That was something I hadn't taken into consideration when I'd climbed up here. I _really_ needed to start thinking ahead to what could happen when I get myself into these situations. Surely it would have been better if I'd stayed in the kitchen, or just revealed my presence right off the bat.

Harry was staring back at me, his eyebrows so raised that I could almost believe he was doing his best impression of Shock after receiving a surprise piece of scandalous information. "Wha-" he tried to ask, and that one half gasped syllable was enough to break the spell that had a hold on me.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out the phone and swiped to answer the call, pressing it to my ear despite the fact that the person calling was sitting a few yards away. "Hello?" I gasped.

"Hey, Steph," Reese said nonchalantly, seemingly unaffected by the emotionally charged sparks flying around her brother and myself. "Would you mind coming downstairs for a bit?"

Still not taking my gaze off Harry, I stammered, "Uh… sh-sure…" And started descending back down the spiral. I had to keep a firm grip on the rail to keep from tumbling down the stairs. Every now and then you have to draw a line in the sand that you're not willing to cross. My line was my limit for embarrassing moments for the week. I'd already been blown away by a car explosion this week and had my hair singed off, I didn't need a spill down the stairs during this tense moment as well.

"Steph?" Harry asked as I reached solid, level ground, as if he didn't recognise me until that moment.

"Hi," I mumbled sheepishly, crossing my arms over my chest as a last line of defence from his still staring eyes.

"Right," Reese said briskly, standing from her position on the floor and dusting off her skirt. "I'll leave you two to talk it over."

My head snapped over to the woman as she picked up her glass to drain the last of the milk. I didn't want her to leave yet. What if Harry's reasons for not wanting to talk to me right now ran deeper than not wanting to make the situation worse? What if he was angry at me for running? I know _I_ was angry at _myself_ for running. But I wasn't sure I could handle Harry's anger at the moment. I needed Reese there to calm things down if they got too heated. To remind us of what really mattered. To-

Before I'd managed to say anything to convince her to stay, she was already out of sight on her way down the stairs.

"How much of that did you hear?" Harry asked in barely more than a whisper, drawing my attention away from the empty space where his sister had been a second ago. His eyes were wide as saucers, staring at me like he couldn't believe I was here. I couldn't really blame him. I was struggling to believe I was here in this moment as well.

"Literally all of it?" I admitted, inadvertently turning it into a question in my uncertain state.

He threw a glare toward the stairs. "I'm gonna kill Reese," he announced, somehow realising that it wasn't my decision to sit up in the rafters and eaves drop on their conversation.

Reese's laughter travelled up the stairs, followed by a confident, "No you're not!"

A frustrated growl left Harry and I realised that he was still seated cross legged on the floor, which made it almost funny when he threw his crayon onto the table and yelled, "Fuck you, Reese," to his sister. It was like a toddler throwing a hissy fit.

Once again, Reese laughed. "God, I wish _someone_ would!" she called.

I couldn't help but giggle at that. Despite how nervous I still felt, Reese's casual commentary on the state of her sex life was funny. It was a lush island on levity in the sea of heavy emotions I'd been swimming through for days. The perfect place to stop and rest. I looked to Harry, noting the pained look in his eyes as he dealt with the unwarranted information about his sisters private life, and decided it was probably safe to approach.

He followed my progress across the space, not taking his gaze off me until I'd lowered myself to the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table where Reese had just been. It wasn't until I was settled in a cross-legged position that he chose to break the silence that had fallen between us. "Steph, I," he took a deep breath. "I want to apologise."

That wasn't what I'd been expecting, and I was pretty sure my face showed it. "For what?" I asked, trying to mask some of my confusion by smoothing out my crinkling brows.

"For," he gestured to the beanie on my head as if that was all the explanation I needed. "Ya know…"

And in the face of his uncertainty, I suddenly found a confidence that had been completely out of reach for the last twenty-four hours. "Offering me your hat to cover up my disastrous hair malfunction?" I asked, only slightly teasing.

He nodded. "Yeah."

I shook my head, disbelieving that he could be sorry for providing me with a means to hide such an embarrassing situation. "Why would you be sorry about that?" I asked.

"Because I didn't realise what the connotations were when I did it," he explained, sounding even more pained than he'd looked when Reese spoke about her lack of sex life. This conversation was hard for him. I needed to put him at ease, but I also needed to get to the heart of the matter: where his heart stood in relation to mine.

"Why do the connotations matter so much?" I asked quietly, picking up one of the two cookies left on the plate and nibbling the edge.

His gaze never left me, following my actions with a slightly worried expression. "Because you freaked out," he pointed out just as quietly. "And fled the country."

He had a point there. While neither of us had realised the meaning of the hat straight away, every other member of the Boston Rangeman office had and it wasn't long after that information had come to light that I stole an SUV and escaped to Trenton. But it wasn't _just_ what the Musketeers said that prompted me to leave, and he needed to know that. "I did freak out," I admitted slowly. "But that wasn't why I fled the state."

His left eyebrow lifted in confused question. Clearly I needed to explain a bit more.

"When the guys told me what the beanie actually meant," I said, fiddling with one of the crayons – the green one - that had rolled over to my side of the table. "Or, at least, what they interpreted it to mean, I freaked out and went to my apartment, where I tried to call one of the guys back in Trenton. I needed to talk to one of them and try understand why the hat proposal thing freaked me out so much. But none of them were answering." Reaching out to the edge of the notebook, I started drawing little spirals with the crayon. "Eventually, I called the Trenton control room and found out that Bobby had been injured and was in the hospital, and Tank and Lester were there too. He's been such a good friend to me over the years, stitching me up and not forcing me to go to the hospital unless it was absolutely necessary, that I didn't even really think about what I was doing. I just got in a car and started driving. He'd been there for me through a bajillion injuries, and I couldn't bear the thought of not giving him the same treatment."

"Oh," Harry uttered. It was such a simple sound, but it spoke volumes of his current thought process. This new information had rocked him. Possibly to the core, though that remained to be seen.

"Yeah," I agreed, despite not knowing exactly what his one syllable response had meant. "I drove straight to the hospital. Tank met me in the car park. Accidentally. He wasn't very happy with my actions, but relieved that I was okay. He took me up to Bobby's hospital room where they forced me to spill my guts. So I did. And while I was telling them everything that had happened, Ranger turned up."

Harry gulped. "Ranger?"

Nodding, I moved on with the story as quickly as possible. All the Boston Merry Men were terrified of Tank and Ranger, but to me they were like big brothers. He wasn't necessarily the threat to Harry that Harry was probably thinking right now. "He helped me realised how I feel," I explained, pausing in my scribbles to reach up to the beanie still covering my head. "About this," I added. "About you." I looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time since I started my tale. "About us."

Barely daring to breathe, Harry held my gaze with a shining hope so bright that I almost needed sunglasses to be able to see past it to the apprehension turning his stomach. "And how is it that you feel?" he questioned, his voice little more than a whisper of air.

And even though Ranger had told me that there were ways to find out how Harry felt about me before I revealed my own feelings, even though I was scared of how he would take the news, I needed to take a leap of faith. _Faith and trust,_ I recalled. That's what it took to fly. I'd never be able to find that exhilarating height of a loving relationship if I didn't go out on a limb and try. "I think," I started, steeling myself for the words that were about to tumble out of my mouth. "I think I love you."

There. I'd said it. The words were out. Now he could take them or leave them and I could move on with my life either way. The torture of the last twenty-four hours would finally be over. All that was left was for Harry to respond. I shifted in my position on the floor, ready to accept my fate and leave if necessary.

"Steph," he uttered, reaching across the table to cover my hand with his, drawing my attention back to his face. "I think I love you, too," he admitted.

"NOW KISS!" came Reese's call from the bottom of the stairs, drawing forth a collective groan from Harry and myself. Clearly, she'd been listening in.

"Go away, Reese!" Harry yelled back.

The only response was a light chuckle that drifted further away, confirming that Reese was following instructions. As it faded into silence, I found myself caught in Harry's gaze, staring, butterflies filling my stomach with their nervous flutter. I loved Harry. Harry loved me. Now we needed to settle one more thing before we could move on: "We can't skip straight to the engagement," I informed him seriously.

He nodded his understanding, matching my serious mood as he replied, "Noted. I'll need my hat back."

"Oh," I gasped, jerkily reaching for the beanie atop my head. I hadn't been expecting to keep the woollen hat forever, but his demand for it's return still came as a bit of a shock. "I…"

A grin bloomed on his face, wiping away the serious expression of a second ago. "I'm kidding," he assured me. "You can keep it. It's yours."

"You can have it back," I said, starting to pull it off. "I just wasn't expecting-"

"No," he interrupted, holding up a hand to stop me. "I mean it. It's yours."

Narrowing my eyes, I peered at him a little closer. He was still smiling, clearly as relieved by the outcome of this conversation as I was. But there was something else lying just underneath the surface. "Is it because it has my head germs all through it now?" I asked.

His nose twitched. "That might have a small part to play in my current decision making process," he said, shrugging in a what-can-you-do kind of way.

I didn't hesitate, then, reaching up to quickly drag the beanie off my head, while simultaneously grabbing the top hat from his, switching their positions as best I could one – it's almost impossible to put a beanie on someone's head one handed. "Now this one does, too," I pointed out, grinning from ear to ear. "Does that mean they're both mine?"

He shrugged again, matching my beaming smile with one of his own. "If you want them, they're yours."

"Geez," I croaked, too full of emotions in that moment to get the word out evenly. "You really _do_ love me, don't you?"

"I really do," he agreed. "I'm gonna court your brains out."

And just like that, the spell was broken. I snorted out a laugh. "Court?" I snickered. "Who calls it courting in this day and age?"

Harry pointed to his head where the beanie lay flaccidly, barely performing it's hat duties. "Steph," he said. "Come on. I was just wearing a top hat. Is it really that farfetched?"

Attempting to straighten my expression, and failing happily, I nodded. "You're right," I agreed. "I'm sorry."

He pulled a deathly serious expression, capturing me in his gaze once more. "I'm not," he told me firmly. "You're beautiful when you laugh."

I'm pretty sure I would have melted into a blushing puddle at that moment had it not been for Harry's hand on mine, grounding me in the moment. And then, just as the moment was starting to feel a little too long, bordering on awkward, the events of the last twenty-four hours started catching up, a wide yawn took control of me. I may have had a nap this morning on Tank's couch, but no one could call that decent rest when I was woken up every two hours to make sure I wasn't dead.

"Have you slept?" Harry asked, shifting up onto his knees to peer at me closely.

"I napped a little in Trenton," I explained. "But Tank was on concussion watch, so it was neither quantity, nor quality."

"Concussion watch?" Harry questioned, and I couldn't help the blush rising on my cheeks. He'd been completely correct in trying to make me go to the hospital and get my head checked properly. And I'd been completely imbecilic to refuse, and then to do a runner through the night.

"Yeah," I said sheepishly. "While I was at the hospital in Trenton Bobby made me get checked out. I have a concussion."

He swore under his breath. "I _told_ you, didn't I?" he said.

I nodded, yawning again. "You did," I agreed. "I should have listened to you and Stitch."

Suddenly on his feet and on my side of the table, he wrapped his arms around me to pull me up beside him. "Come on," he said, making sure I was steady on my feet before guiding me around the couch to the stairs. "Let's get you back to your apartment so you can rest properly. I'll update Stitch on your condition and he can keep an eye on you over the weekend."

* * *

 ** _Fun fact: I have written 60 000 words this year, 48 000 of which is on this story._**


	59. Chapter 59

_Gee, I love when we hold staff training after work... I'm sooooooo tired. But also committed to my weekly update schedule._

 **Chapter 59**

I'm not sure what I was expecting to find when Harry dropped me in the Boston Rangeman parking garage, but it certainly wasn't this:

The second we turned into the driveway, t was clear that the space was full of more than just cars Men were milling about everywhere, laughing, chatting, slapping each other on the back. I was utterly confused until I glanced at the tie on the dash and realised they must have just arrived back from dinner at Shorty's. That was an obstacle I had not been prepared for, but before I had a chance to spin the situation out of control in my head and work up an unhealthy panic, Harry's hand had wrapped around mine, squeezing gently.

"You're fine," he said quietly.

I swallowed the beginnings of a lump in my throat, nodding my agreement with his statement, even though I wasn't so sure I believed him. We may have cleared up the beanie issue and finally gotten our feelings out in the open, but that was all we'd figured out, and it was all so fresh, and I was so tired that my brain was starting to feel fuzzy, and-

"Hey," Harry interrupted my thoughts as he manoeuvred slowly through the crowd of men and into a parking space. "We're fine, yeah?"

My gaze – probably as wide as dinner plates at this point – drifted over to meet his, and there was no missing the look of concern he was trying to hide. He was worried I wasn't ready to be seen with him, or that I was about to freak out and say we shouldn't be together. He wasn't asking if I was okay, he was asking if _we_ were still okay. As a couple. He was checking that I wasn't getting cold feet just twenty minutes into our relationship, and that made my heart ache with how much I loved this man.

Taking a deep breath to calm my mind, I met Harry's eyes more fully. "We're good," I assured him, giving a squeeze of that hand that was still joined with mine. It didn't matter what the guys thought. So long as I was okay with the decisions I'd made in my life, nothing else mattered.

Harry let a smile bloom, washing away the worry. "Good," he agreed.

"Their opinions don't matter," I said aloud.

"Exactly," he said. "I should mention, though, that there are a few people to whom you are required to report to fairly post haste now that you're back." He paused, and probably would have left it at that, if it weren't for the question on my face. "Stitch will need you for a check up to make sure you're ready to get back to work. Hawk and Hugh want an explanation for your disappearance. And I overheard Mungo and Barrel discussing having missed you in your daily sessions with them today. I think they're thinking about getting you to make up the time with a survival weekend."

There were a lot of things I wanted to say in response to this unloading of information, especially the part about a survival weekend, but the one comment that slipped past all my filter was, "Post haste? First 'courting' and now 'poste haste'? I feel like I'm dating a character out of a Jane Austin novel."

The laugh that filled the car assured me that my comment had been received as the joke I had been intending it to be. "Need I remind you," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "Of the top hat atop my head?"

"True," I conceded, absently fiddling with my beanie – I'd decided it was mine. He could borrow it back if he had need of it, but it was mine. "Well," I added on a yawn. "I should run the gauntlet and head on up to bed." I started slipping my hand out of his, but he tightened his grip, drawing my attention back to him. "Hmm?"

Reaching up, Harry adjusted the position of the beanie, his fantastic grin having softened into a small smile, more eyes than lips. "Don't let them get away with any snooping or speculation," he instructed, trailing his fingertips down the side of my face, shifting curls out of the way and caressing my cheek tenderly as he held my gaze, a fierce fire blazing in his. "Set them straight and walk away with your head held high. Our relationship is none of their business, and it's nothing to be ashamed of."

And with that statement lingering in my ears, in my mind and in my heart, I slipped out of the SUV and into the throng of men now making their way, slowly, toward the stairwell and elevators. When I'd almost reached the slight curb that lead to the clearing in front of said elevators, the people in front of me stopped, causing me to do the same. Men were still moving past toward the stairs, so the group in front of me must have been waiting for the elevators. That was fine by me. I didn't have the energy to climb the devil's contraptions at the moment.

As we waited, the men around me continued to chat and joke, filling the space with their noise. It engulfed me in a comforting sort of way that I was able to float along inside of. This was normal. This was respectful. I couldn't tell if anyone had even noticed I was here, because no one had acknowledged my presence yet.

"Hey Steph," came a familiar voice from behind me, like it had been waiting for me to have that thought to cue it to speak up. "Was that Harry who dropped you off?"

I turned to find Bronson standing behind me. Just my luck. Things had been tense between us in a new sort of way since he revealed his thoughts and feelings regarding my place in this company, along with his tragic backstory, which he somehow figured justified his opinions. We hadn't really spoken beyond the few words that were necessary to carry out our respective tasks. I couldn't stop thinking about his brother every time I saw him looking at me.

As much as I'd tried to take Bobby's advice, (and the advice of everyone else who was in my corner), and not let the opinions of others affect my decisions in life, I couldn't deny that the fact that Joel Johns had been a lot like me in his approach to skip tracing and had died as a direct result of it, along with my horrendous track record here in Boston, was a fairly winning argument for why I should not be out in the field. I don't know if it was because I just didn't get how Bostonites worked, whereas back in Trenton I had a lifetime's worth of experience dealing with the natives to help me get by, but nearly every time I stepped out that door to bring someone back into the system, I got injured or created a disaster of some kind.

"Yeah," I said, pushing away the awkwardness I felt to continue this seemingly benign conversation. So long as he didn't start passing out opinions on my life, we'd be fine. "Yeah, that was Harry. I was-" I cut myself off, my eyes widening as I recalled just what I had been doing at Harry's. The original desire that had set me on a course for his house rather than the Rangeman building. "Excuse me," I said hastily, taking several steps back away from him and making a beeline for the small washroom nearby.

"Steph, wait," he called, starting to follow, but I held up my hands to stop him.

"Peanut butter," I gasped, continuing to back up. "I was at Harry's place for peanut butter and I haven't washed my face or hands or anything since consuming it."

His eyes widened slightly, and he slowed his pursuit, but did not stop following. "Okay," he said when I'd entered the washroom and turned on the tap. "I can wait till you're done."

I wanted to roll my eyes and tell him to go away, but I also wasn't fond of the apprehension that gripped me every time I saw him, wondering if this was going to be the moment he told me I should just leave Rangeman all together. So instead, I muttered a quick, "Okay," and started erasing the traces of peanut butter I could almost feel on my skin. When I was done, he passed me some paper towels to dry off and stepped to the side of the doorway he'd been standing in to allow me to pass.

"I think the measures they go to eliminate all the risks in the building are ridiculous," he informed me, stuffing his hands into his pockets as I emerged into a much emptier carpark. "Especially when you consider that the moment I step out into the real world-" he nodded toward the gate at the end of the driveway – "I'm facing death at every turn. I grocery shopping, and I know that there's always a possibility that the person who used the cart before had peanut butter for breakfast. They can't ban nuts in the supermarket, and they can't make everyone wash their face and hands before they enter."

I just nodded, heading back over to the elevator. What was I supposed to do? Agree that they lengths the Musketeers went to reduce the risk of his anaphylaxis inside the building was over the top? That wasn't going to happen. No matter how much I felt that that way. As a person who had been saved from death and serious injury on multiple occasion due to protective measures that I had personally deemed over the top, I feel like it would have been hypocritical of me to pass judgement.

"So, you and Harry –"

"Yes, we're officially dating," I interrupted before he could get the question out.

Bronson blinked in confusion. "Wait what?"

I really did roll my eyes then. "Like you hadn't already heard the hat gossip," I intoned, crossing my arms protectively over my chest. "Don't act dumb."

He shook his head, eyebrows rising steadily. "I'm not acting," he said.

"It's true," Jerry added from my other side. "Bronson doesn't have to _act_ dumb. He already _is_ dumb."

"What hat gossip?" Bronson asked, ignoring Jerry's insult.

I narrowed my gaze. Surely there was no possible way that anyone in the company had missed the memo about Harry giving me his hat. Let alone the fact that I had fled the state soon afterward. "Seriously, Bronson," I sighed. "I don't have the energy for these games. My headache is starting to come back and all I want to do is take a couple of these lovely pain pills the hospital gave me and crawl in to be bed so I can get a good night's sleep and be ready to face my doom in the morning."

"Hospital?" he question, brows swooping down from their arched positions to scrunch together in a deep furrow. "Doom?"

"Yeah," I said. "You know, the head injury, whatever punishment Hugh sets for stealing an SUV. Not to mention all the paperwork I probably have to catch up on regarding the _other_ SUV that exploded."

Bronson stared at me for several unblinking seconds, his mouth handing open in shock, or possibly confusion. I was just starting to mentally run through the signs and symptoms of anaphylaxis, thinking he might be having a reaction after all, when he finally blinked and shook his head once more. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath. "I take three days off to go see my Ma and everything goes to hell in a hand basket. Are you okay?"

"Fine," I assured him at the same moment the elevator arrived. "Just a mild concussion from when the blast threw me to the ground. The swelling has already started to go down."

We were silent as we rode the elevator to the fourth floor, aware of the other bodies packed in with us. Not that they hadn't all been eaves dropping on our conversation while we were waiting, it just seemed more obvious when we were all stuck in the confined space. The moment we stepped out into the hallway, though, it was clear that Bronson wanted, or perhaps needed, more information, because despite the fact that his apartment was in the complete opposite direction, he walked with me to mine.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked quietly, intensely.

"I've definitely been better," I said. "But I've also been a lot worse. A headache, I can handle."

He nodded, but appeared to be thinking beyond what my statement meant. "I know I haven't exactly been supportive of you since your arrival," he said. "In fact I was an outright bastard to you in your first weeks. But I'd like to help you."

"What do you mean?" I asked, frowning.

"If I'd taken the time to help Joel a little more, maybe he'd still be here," he said quietly. "It's a regret I have every minute of every day, and I can't bear the thought of something happening to you as well. If I can't help Joel the way I should have, maybe I can make up for it by helping you."

"Helping me with what?" I pressed, still a little bit lost.

"Take downs," he said. "Skip tracing. Door knocking. There has to be a safe way to do it that doesn't involve kicking their teeth in, or shooting at them. Right?"

I felt myself smile a little. "Well, yeah, that's what I've been trying to tell you," I pointed out. "If you would have listened from the beginning-"

"Yeah, yeah," he shrugged. "I guess I'll wear that. Anyway, I want to set up a meeting with you, Mungo and Barrel to see what we can come up with in terms of finding a happy medium. How does a breakfast meeting at Suzan's sound?"

My stomach growled at the mere thought of Suzan's Diner. "Sounds like a plan, but you may need to haul me out of bed if you want it any earlier than eight o'clock."

He nodded. "Noted. I'll tell the others." And with that, he was retracing his steps down the hall toward his own apartment.

* * *

 ** _For those who have read "In a Crowd of Thousands" and asked for a continuation, you will be pleased to know that I am half way through writing a second chapter for it. I hope to have the chapter finished by next friday._**


	60. Chapter 60

_So this is the last chapter that I have ready to go. Hopefully, thanks to Camp NaNoWriMo this month, I can keep up with my weekly updates for a little longer, but I can't make any guarantees because April is a REALLY busy month for me. Also, the next chapter of this story is resisting being written. I'm persisting, but it's a painful process._

 **Chapter 60**

As it turns out, there was no need for Bronson to haul me out of bed to get to our breakfast meeting the next morning, because Stitch had already done it. Having apparently arrived at work early for a session in the gym, he'd quickly changed course upon learning that I had returned and was currently sleeping in my apartment. There was no polite knocking, or even impatient bashing on the door, though (or, at least, not as far as I was aware). Instead, I woke up to Stitch reefing the covers off my curled form.

Lucky for him I wore clothes to bed, otherwise I could think of a few men that would be outraged at him gazing upon my naked form without due cause.

"Up," he commanded.

I groaned in reply.

" _Up_ ," he said more firmly, adding a, " _Now_ ," for good measure when I failed to follow directions a second time. I was reaching blindly for the blanket, sure that it had to be _somewhere_ nearby, when his voice interrupted my attempts to force my way back into dream land. "Stephanie Plum, if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you down to med bay, I will. Don't think I'm scared of a few over protective brother types."

"'jsss wann' sleee'," I mumbled smushing my face into the pillow and drawing my knees up closer to my chest.

"Then maybe next time you should actually submit to professional medical attention when someone advises you to go to the hospital," he stated.

It was then that I managed to wake up enough to take in the tone he was using, and it wasn't a happy one. He was clearly pissed at me. And he probably had every right to be after what I'd done in the last thirty six hours. I could have gotten myself killed, or injured worse that I already was, and it was all because I was too chicken shit to go to the hospital when I needed to.

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I rolled onto my back and stretched my legs out. "Okay," I sighed. "I'm up."

"I'll believe it when you're upright and following me downstairs," Stitch countered, which was smart, because the number of times I'd told my mother I was up when she woke me up for school, only to fall back to sleep again when she walked away from the bedroom door was actually too high to count. "Off the bed and into some clothes, thanks," he added. "You've got five minutes before I barge back in and drag you out caveman style."

Five minutes later, probably to the second but it was much too early for my brain to worry about that kind of precision, Stitch pushed my bedroom door open once more to find me lacing up my sneakers.

"Good," he nodded shortly. "I was worried you'd gone back to sleep when I couldn't hear you moving around anymore."

A yawn escaped me, disrupting my attempts to tie my laces. "Not gonna lie," I said when I was back in control of my mouth and my shoes, "I was very tempted."

Stitch shook his head, shoulders slumping as he crossed the room toward me, his anger from five minutes ago having dissipated significantly. "Give me your foot," he sighed holding out a hand when he was in front of me. "You look like a kitten that's been playing with a ball of yarn and managed to get itself tangled up in it."

"I'm not good at mornings," I yawned again, leaning back on my elbows so it was easier to lift my foot into the air where Stitch grasped it and braced it against his thigh, securing my laces in record time before tapping both sides of my shoe and instructing me to give him the other. "You're surprisingly good at this," I pointed out.

"I have a lot of practice," I said. "My daughter's laces are constantly coming undone."

My curiosity spiked, kicking my brain into gear in a way that usually didn't happen before midday. "You have a daughter?"

"Her name is Kate, but I'm not telling you anything else until you're down stairs," he said, dropping the second foot to the ground. "But as a reward for not going bac to bed when I left the room, I made you coffee."

"Mmm," I hummed happily, already anticipating the first blissful drop on my tongue. "Should I tell Harry that you helped me get dressed this morning?" I asked.

The sound Stitch made might have been a cough, but it also might have been a choked off laugh. The sound interpretation sector of my brain wouldn't be fully operational for another hour, so it was hard to tell. "I take it you two worked things out?" he asked.

"Yep," I nodded, collapsing further in my reclined position so that I was lying on the bed with my legs hanging off the side. "We talked last night when I got back." Another yawn snuck up on me. "We haven't really defined the terms of our relationship, or set any boundaries yet, but I' pretty sure he's not gonna be impressed by me having another man help me get dressed on Day One."

"First of all," Stitch said, grabbing my arm without warning and pulling me back into an upright position, "I'd like to make it very clear that I did nothing but tie your shoes for you. Second, I'm glad you and Harry finally realised you have feelings for each other. And third, I was lead to believe that Morning Stephanie was a non-verbal creature who communicated almost exclusively through grunts and glares. Not only that, Daytime Stephanie isn't usually the kind to joke about, or even talk about relationships as lightly as this. Are you okay? Are you have a reaction to pain medication?"

"I'm fine," I assured him. "There's an override switch to wake me up quickly. Almost no one knows about it, which is the way like it, so you can't tell anyone I told you it."

He cocked his head to the side. "You didn't tell me _what_ the override switch was," he pointed out. "Just that there was one."

"Really?" I asked. "Good. Even better."

"I'll tell you about my daughter if you tell me the override," he offered.

I narrowed my eyes at him. I knew I was slow in the mornings, but that was trying to take advantage. "You were going to tell me about her anyway," I pointed out.

"Damn," he muttered. "I thought that would work." Rather than try a different tactic, he gripped my shoulders and started leading me toward the door. "Well, off we go to examine your head, then."

I groaned. "Again?"

"Maybe that'll teach you to go to the hospital when I tell you to," he admonished.

*o*

Forty-five minutes later, Stitch had examined my head, shone a light in my eyes and asked me all the standard head injury questions. Again. Feeding me little bits of information about his daughter after each one, like a reward system. He'd also sent Bobby an email requesting a medical report from the hospital. I wasn't sure how much help Bobby was going to be on that front, since he'd still be moderately out of it when I left him and Lester at Shorty's yesterday, but at the very least, he had a good rapport with the nurses at St. Francis, so it wouldn't be hard for him to acquire that information.

Once Stitch had hit send on the email, he'd spun back around on the stool to face me. I stared back. After several long moments of this, he jerked his head toward the door. "Get outta here," he said. "And take it easy this time. No driving off in the middle of the night. In fact, no driving, period, unti I give the al clear."

"Yes, sir," I mock saluted. "Do I get a lollipop, sir?"

Stitched clamped a hand over the jar of lollipops on his desk and narrowed his eyes at me. "Bobby made it clear that the lollipops are only for when you've been a good patient," he said evenly. "If you follow my instructions and rest up, you can have one at your Monday morning check up."

I scrunched my nose up. "It's not gonna be _this_ early, is it? Cos I can't control my actions before eight."

"Eight- thirty, Monday morning," he said firmly. "And if you're a _really_ good girl, I'll tell you a little more about Kate."

I'm pretty sure he only added the bit about Kate as a bribe to get me to come back voluntarily. God knows the possibility of a lollipop wasn't enough to drag me back here. I like them, sure, but I can get my sugar hit just as easily elsewhere. And I didn't have to be poked and prodded in order to do so.

"What are you still doing here?" he said when I hadn't moved after another moment. "Get out of my sight."

He didn't have to tell me three times. I may have been reprimanded several times in the past twenty-four hours about my avoidance of necessary medical attention, and Stitch may have been one of the most tolerable medical type people I knew (no one will ever top Bobby), but that didn't mean I liked sitting on the table in the med bay under close examination. I was out of there before Stitch had the chance to change his mind.

I was in such a hurry to get back to my apartment and the possibility of another hour of sleep, that I took the stairs, emerging into the fourth floor hallway to the sound of a fist pounding on a door. Slowing my approach to the bend in the hall that led to my apartment, just in case there was some kind of security breach and the person causing the racket was out to, you know, cause harm or something, I peered around the corner just as a loud voice interrupted the constant thumping.

"Swear to god, Steph, if you don't open the door in the next thirty seconds, I'm coming in and dragging you out of bed!"

I couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh as the pounding began again. Bronson was attempting to rouse me from my supposed slumber for our breakfast meeting. And I was not there to rouse. It was one of the most hilarious things I'd ever witnessed. It was like one of those scenes in a cartoon. Or perhaps my previous early wake-up call was catching up with me, making me ever so slightly delirious. Either way, Bronson was oblivious to my presence as he continued thumping on my door.

"That's it," he yelled. "I'm coming in!"

I could have revealed my presence then and saved him the trouble of hacking the lock – not that I thought it was an actual hack, I'm pretty sure fifty percent of the men know how to gain access to a Rangeman apartment without a key – but that would have been no fun at all. My only regrets, as he disappeared inside my apartment without so much as a glance in my direction, was that a) I had no clothespins with me, and b) I probably wouldn't be able to get close enough to peg him even if I did. It would have been the ultimate turn of the tables if I could have. Shame.

Instead, I crept down the hall and through the open apartment door just in time to hear the string of curse words coming from the bedroom. "Shit. Fuck. Shitting fuck damn cunt fuck. Who the fuck am I even supposed to report this to?"

Hearing the rising panicked note in his voice, I thought it was probably time to end the subterfuge. "Report what?" I asked, crossing the leaving space to stand in the bedroom doorway. "A break in?"

Bronson spun to face me, phone in hand, eyebrows disappearing into his slicked back hair. "Steph, what the fuck," he demanded. "I thought you'd done another runner. You said you don't get out of bed before eight. It's only-"

"Six," I interrupted. "Believe me, I'm well aware of what time it is. It wasn't my choice to be up this early. Stitch dragged me down to his office to make sure I was alright."

It was only then that relief started to trickle across Bronson's features. "Well, that makes my job easier, I guess," he said, sliding his phone away into his pocket and walking towards me. I have to say, I wasn't looking forward to trying to convince you to get up."

"That's a smart instinct," I told him. "Mary-Lou was tasked with waking me up at five a.m. for a morning hike at camp once, and I told her to drink bleach and die. Morning Stephanie is not a pleasant person."

"Hence why I stopped by the break room on my way up to procure a bribe," he said, holding out a disposable coffee cup I hadn't noticed he was holding.

Another laugh escaped me. At this rate, I would be a jittering mess by the time eight o'clock rolled around. "Thanks," I said, accepting it with a genuine smile that had more to do with the image of myself hopped up on caffeine than my gratitude for his gestures. "Should we get going?"

He glanced at his watch. "I told Mungo and Barrel six-thirty," he said. "But they're probably not that far off being ready to roll. I'll text them on the way down to the garage."

As it turns out, Mungo and Barrel were a little further away from being ready than we assumed, so Bronson and I went on ahead of them, promising to place their orders for them so they'd be ready to eat when they got there.

The drive over, alone in the car with Bronson, was less awkward than I imagined it would have been. He filled the silence by telling me a story about one of his brother's half-cocked adventures.

"I refused to go with him that day," Bronson explained. "I thought I was too old and cool for playing in the park, so I hung out on a bench in front of the Chinese restaurant across the streets and watched as he made a friend in the park and followed said friend into the small patch of trees. A couple of minutes later they both came running out of the trees, screaming at the top of their lungs and flailing their arms about everywhere. It took me a second to notice the swarm of wasps chasing him. It was pretty funny. Hilarious even. I was laughing my guts up at it. But then he changed tactics. No longer running about in circles, he started making a bee-line for me."

"Wasp line," I pointed out automatically, engrossed in the story, but unable to resist the pun.

He let out a short laugh. "Good point," he agreed. "Anyway, suddenly things were a lot less funny, because while Joel had already been stung dozens of times and was still running around, alive and well, a single sting on me could be fatal.

I gasped, suddenly recalling that he was allergic to insect stings. "What did you do?"

"I did what any self-respecting person would do," he said easily. "I ran inside the restaurant and barricaded the door so he couldn't get in. I got to watch through the windows as the wasps slowly lost interest and left him alone. He was covered in stings, head to toe. I felt bad for leaving him out there, but –"

"If you'd tried to help him, you would have been much worse off," I finished for him. "Geez, that's heavy. What did you do?"

"I asked Mr. Cho to call my mom," he admitted. "There was nothing much else I could do. So I waited until Mom came to pick him up – trying not to die on the inside because he was curled up on the sidewalk crying – and then slipped out the back of the restaurant and walked home."

"Was he okay?" I asked, my heard in my throat.

"Yeah," Bronson said easily. "Better than fine by the time he got home later. He was painted pink practically all over from the calamine lotion and he got a massive ice-cream sundae all to himself. He was in heaven."

By this point, we were pulling into the diner's parking lot, his story having been perfectly timed to wrap up as we arrived at our destination. We went inside and found a table easily. There was no one else there. And right on cue, Uncle Suzan appeared at our side.

"Am I dreaming?" he asked, scrubbing a hand over his face. He looked tired. "Or does Stephanie Plum really exist at this early hour?"

"Believe me," I said, "I wish I was still in bed."

"You and me both, sweetheart," he agreed. "Mornings are not my cup of tea, either." Pulling a note pad and pen from his apron pocket, he gave a nod. "What'll it be?"

"Four big breakfasts," I announced without hesitation. To try to combat Suzan's penchant for serving only me, and making anyone I was dining with wait, I'd started taking orders before we arrived at the diner so I could list them off when Suzan inevitably came to take my order. The first day, he'd commented about having a big appetite, but didn't give me a chance to explain. Probably he realised exactly what I was doing straight away. The fact that he didn't refuse, or comment on it meant that _he_ was okay with my decision to support my friends, and _the guys_ were more than happy to text in their orders on the way over. In fact, last time we'd come for dinner, Suzan had just held out a hand for my phone and copied the orders down. "Two coffees, a green smoothie and an orange juice."

Suzan raised an eyebrow at me and Bronson.

"Mungo and Barrel are on their way," I explained.

"That makes more sense," he nodded. "No one but Mungo has the audacity to order a big breakfast and a green smoothie." And with that, he made his way back to the kitchen.

Bronson didn't even allow thirty seconds to pass before he was cutting straight to the heart of what I assumed was his curiosity. "So you and Harry?" he asked, leadingly.

My fingers twitched on the table, itching to fiddle with the beanie I had left on my bedside table. I suddenly understood Harry's compulsions a little more. "Yep," I said. "My and Harry."

"How did you-?" he asked, leaving his question unfinished when I let out a groan.

"It's a whole thing," I said, hoping to deter him. "A really long story."

He eyed me curiously. "Most women don't groan when someone asks how they got together with their boyfriend," he said.

I nodded my agreement. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not most women," I pointed out. "And like I said last night, the story involves an explosion, head injury, stealing an SUV and fleeing the state, so it's not exactly the most romantic."

"I'm not looking for Mills and Boon worthy gossip, Steph," he said honestly. "I'm just wondering how it is you and Harry finally realised that you're meant to be together."

"What do you mean finally?" I questioned, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Well, there've been theories flying around the building for a few weeks. A few of the guys thought you were already dating, but keeping it on the down-low. Nearly everyone I've heard speak on the topic hard core ships it."

"Ships it?"

"You and Harry," he explained.

I pinched my forehead, trying to ward off the headache I could feel brewing. They've been gossiping behind my back. Why hadn't I realised this earlier? What else had they been saying about me? But more importantly than that, if they've all been shipping Harry and me, how much of what has happened between us is genuine. How much has been manipulated by the Musketeers?

Before I could start to properly panic over the questions running through my head, I took a deep breath, just as Dr. Miran had taught me to do, and waited a moment before meeting Bronson's eyes. It wasn't his fault, so there was no reason to fly off the handle. And ultimately, my feelings for Harry were my own. No one could _make_ me love someone. So the guys have been wanting us to get together, so what? Their opinions didn't matter to my personal life. Everything was fine. At least they weren't spreading rumours that I was servicing half the building privately.

"Are you okay?" Bronson asked.

"Fine," I replied. "I would prefer if people didn't talk about me behind my back."

"Oh," he said. "Yeah, I get that. With your history. If it helps, most of the interactions on the subject are limited to about a fifty words. One person asking if you're together yet, and then mentioning an activity that you undertook together recently."

Remarkably, that did help. It sounded less like gossip and rumours, and more like quiet, behind the scenes support. "Thanks," I said.

"No worries," he replied. "One day, when we have more time, will you tell me about the explosion and car stealing, and how it led to you and Harry being an item? I meant what I said last night, I want to support you in your life the way I should have supported Joel."

"You said 'help' last night," I said. "You said you wanted to 'help' me in my endeavours. Not that you want to support my life."

Bronson sighed. "Look, I miss Joel," he said. "I miss having my brother around. I should have been more supportive when he was alive. There are so many similarities between you and him. Every time you do something it reminds me of something that Joel did and I just want to make sure that you don't end up in the same boat as him. I guess what I'm saying is, will you be my surrogate brother?"

A fuzzy warmth spread through my body. "Do you promise to call my mom if I'm being stung to death by a million wasps as you watch from the safety of a Chinese restaurant?" I asked.

"Cross my heart."

* * *

 ** _See you next week (hopefully)._**


	61. Chapter 61

_Camp NaNoWriMo is going... okay... I'm not sure how behind I am because I haven't had much time with my computer, most of what I've written this week has been good ol' pen and paper. In saying that. I did manage to finish a chapter on the weekend (hence why I'm able to update now) and have about a third of another chapter. Progress has also been made on In A Crowd of Thousands._

 **Chapter 61**

When Mungo and Barrel arrived I was subjected to a short round of admonishment for missing my daily sessions with them, but when I mentioned the fact that a) I had a concussion, and b) I'd gone back to Trenton to check on Bobby who was now recovering from a broken clavicle, they were less insistent in their positions up on their high horses. They settled into their seats just as the waiter and Suzan arrived with breakfast, and skirted around a few questions as we ate about how I'd managed to have yet another field work disaster when I wasn't even engaged in proper fugitive apprehension at the time. And then it was straight down to business.

"Okay, we have some time here," Bronson said. "Will you tell us about you and Harry?" Well, almost down to business. There was a twinkle in his eye that let me know he was mostly only stirring, but that didn't mean it didn't elicit a slight groan from me. If this was how the Musketeers combated the 'don't talk behind my back' issue, then I was in for a long week of explaining Harry and my very new relationship. I'm not sure it was strong enough yet to stand that test.

I shook my head, setting down the corner of toast I'd been nibbling on and tried to sort out my thoughts on the matter. I hadn't really had enough time to come to terms with the fact that Harry and I were officially in a relationship. The last two days had been tumultuous and my brain was still playing catch up, both physically, as it recovered from being smashed against the inside of my skull and mentally as it lined up all the ducks that were strewn all over the place. I knew that I loved Harry, that I was currently in a relationship with him, as of about twelve hours ago, but given that I'd become quite tired, prompting Harry to drive me back to Rangeman, and I'd literally only slept and been dragged through a medical examination since then, defining the relationship was almost impossible, and even a little scary.

Harry and I had been good friends for a while now, and I could tell you exactly how our friendship looked, but this new development was a little less concrete. I couldn't begin to define it if I wanted to do it justice.

"I- uh," I stammered. "We…"

Bronson cracked a smile and popped the last mouthful of eggs into his mouth. "I'm kidding," he said. "We don't have time for it. Barrel has to get back for an appointment and Mungo can't survive outside the gym for very long. He's like a fish out of water here."

"Ha ha," Mungo deadpanned. "Can we get down to business here?"

Bronson was still smiling at me, like his point had been proven by Mungo's statement. His brows were twitching in a way that seemed to say, _"See?"_ It was still odd seeing so much positive emotion on Bronson's face after so long dealing with glares and frowns, but I wasn't about to complain about that. I'd take friendly banter over hateful stares any day. "Right," he agreed, cutting his gaze over to the other men. "We all know Steph's methods of skip tracing differ from the norm, preferring to take a peaceful tack where possible, rather than barging in with guns a-blazing."

Barrel frowned. "Guns a-blazing suggests that they're already being fired at the moment the doors are opened," he pointed out. "That's not exactly protocol."

"You know what I mean," Bronson said, waving away the man's concerns. "The point is, during my one day of field work with Steph, she kinda re-opened my eyes to what we were actually doing."

"Putting criminals back behind bars where they belong?" Mungo asked, eyes narrowed.

Bronson shook his head. "No," he said. "I meant what our actions, our choices, our appearance is doing to the views of the community. We're not exactly a friendly looking bunch, riding around town in all black, armed to the teeth and breaking down people's doors."

"Sure," Mungo conceded, dipping his head slightly. "But the alternative is what lead to Joel-"

"I know," Bronson cut in. "Which is why we're starting this conversation. There needs to be something in between politely asking and getting stabbed for it, and yelling at them to get in the car and losing the respect of the community for it. Because we should be more community based. We could be doing so much more with our resources than hauling scum away to their holding cells." He paused, taking a sip of his coffee. "Steph's methods work brilliantly back in Trenton. She knows her community. She's connected to the people and can use that to her advantage. She got Stoner-Jeff to come with us willingly. Not a single gun was drawn. If we can harness that kind of … uh… what do you call it?" He glanced at each of us, but I don't think he found the word he was looking for in our faces. "If we can harness more of that kind of compassionate approach, we'd be more respected in our community. We'd find more cooperation. How many times have you knocked on a neighbours door and been snubbed, or had the door slammed in your face when they realised it was you."

"Aren't you the one who pushed for the change of protocol after Joel?" Barrel asked.

"Yeah, but I was blinded by grief," Bronson said. "The fact that you all allowed it to be passed, coupled with the fact that the decision has remained in place for years, is rather concerning, to be honest."

"So what's the plan here?" I asked, leaning both elbows on the table. "How do we find a happy medium between my methods and the Boston methods that would suit everyone? Hugh-"

"Hugh's reign of terror will no longer be permitted to continue. With his current medication change, now is the optimal time to suggest changes," Mungo pointed out. "If we're doing this, though, we need a plan, and that plan needs to cover all aspects of the company. We're not just talking about changing our etiquette, we're suggesting s full attitude shift, and I think that starts within the company walls first. We need to devise a way to get all men-"

"And women," I inserted.

"And women," he acquiesced. "On the same page with the same methods. We need to show Boston that we're not a group of thugs to be feared, but a collective of security professionals that are looking out for their wellbeing."

"That's a big ask," Barrel said.

"It is," Bronson agreed. "That's why we need a solid plan before we take it to Hugh and Hawk. I called the two of you here specifically because you work with Steph every day and know what she's like. Mungo especially. You're probably the best qualified to-"

Mungo cut him off right there, a frown on his face. "I'm not the most qualified to tell you how Steph works. If we're choosing anyone at Boston, it'd be Harry. He spends so much more time with Steph than anyone else. Why isn't he here?"

I looked to Bronson, who returned the gaze with a slight shrug. "The thought didn't occur to me," he admitted. "But that's a good point. We should get Harry involved in the conversation."

*o*

"-and a movie," Harry said. "Is that a suitable starting point?"

I blinked several times, rewinding in my head to see if I'd actually heard what Harry was saying and could formulate an answer from the memory of the information that came before the question. Alas, it appeared I had not been paying attention, which is mostly Harry's own fault. I'd been focussing hard on setting up the file in front of me to run through the search programs. It wasn't until I'd hit 'begin' and turned to slide reach for the bottle of water on the corner of the desk that I noticed him in the doorway to my office, already midsentence.

"Start what?" I asked, when I failed to figure out what he was referring to.

Harry shifted the Sherlock Holmes style hat he was wearing, flashed a tight smile. "Our first date," he said, moving to my visitor's chair. "Dinner and a movie is kinda cliché, but it's simple and no pressure. I thought it would be a good place to start. Is… is it not a good place to start?"

"Oh! No!" I exclaimed, then realised what I was saying. "I mean, dinner and a movie is fine."

His brow furrowed as he eyed me. "Fine?" he questioned. "Steph, it's our first date. I wanna make it special."

"Technically," I pointed out. "I think our first date was when you took me for tacos after my first field readiness exam."

He let out a slight laugh, probably recalling, as I was, the waitress's reaction to Harry's celebration announcement and our own inability to set her straight. "First _official_ date, then," he said. "Where do you want to go?"

"Wherever you are."

An ugly sounding snort escaped Harry. "That's so corny," he said. And he was probably right. But I'd never been in a position to offer opinions on date locations and activities before. The men I'd dated were mild to moderate control freaks and like to try to prove their masculinity by overseeing every aspect of the date.

"You know what else is kinda corny?" I asked, trying not to dwell on past relationships, because while my relationship with Ranger was perfectly fine in a casual sex with an extra light sprinkling of commitment kind of way, there was no way I wanted to start thinking about Morelli, or Dicky. I didn't have a great track record with men, which had made me sceptical and sort of afraid of commitment, but with Harry it felt different.

With Dicky I hadn't really known what I was doing. I'd thought what I felt was love, but it turned out to be an infatuation with the idea of being in a committed relationship and a belief that Dicky was _The One._ Morelli was like an addiction, I returned to him again and again to satisfy an itch, to get a fix. It was an unhealthy relationship from the beginning. I gave him my virginity. I gave him a broken leg. I gave him a lot of things, and over and over he gave me heated arguments about my life decisions. He wasn't the supportive partner I needed. Ranger was supportive, yes, and there was a lot of passion between us, but he was adamant that we didn't really have a future together. He couldn't give me the commitment I deserved. There would always be a special spot in my heart for Ranger, but he knew his life better than anyone and if he thought it wouldn't work between us, then he wasn't going to put in the effort to try and _make_ it work. I loved Ranger, and if I thought about it, knowing that we wouldn't be together hurt a little, but then I pictured Harry, and my heart warmed.

While every other relationship in my adult life had been a sudden, hot and heavy, mess of a thing, Harry was a slow burn. Every day I loved him a little more, which is how, I think, I managed to miss the fact that I did, in fact, love him until I took the time to examine our friendship thus far.

"What?" Harry said, eyes sparkling with humour as he crossed his arms loosely over his chest, leaning back in his chair like he hadn't a care in the world. "What else is corny?"

"Asking for my approval on date ideas," I pointed out. "I would literally be okay with beers in front of the TV."

He shook his head, eyes turning sad. "You really have never been treated right."

"I'm a simple woman," I tried to defend, even though my heart wasn't in the statement. "I have simple needs."

Harry's eyes narrowed a moment, like he didn't quite believe me, and I have to say, he wasn't the only one in the room of that opinion. He squared his shoulders. "I'm gonna make you feel like… like…" he seemed to lose the rest of the sentence. "Uh… A princess!" he exclaimed. "No wait! A QUEEN!"

I had to laugh. It was a lovely sentiment, but my automatic response was too funny "So long as you don't make me feel like a drag queen, I think we'll be fine."

"How would I even do that?" he asked, sounding an odd combination of amused and horrified.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But dinner and a movie sounds good."

"Cool," he said, nodding and leaning forward. He dragged a file on my desk closer to himself, flipping it open. "So can we talk about the phone call I got from Bronson this morning?" he asked, waiting for my nod before voicing what was on his mind. "I thought Bronson was a _persona non grata_ , but he said you guys had breakfast this morning?"

"It was a breakfast meeting," I explained. "With Mungo and Barrel as well. They want to help me develop and implement a training program for the men up here to learn more peaceful tactics for bounty hunting."

Harry nodded, flipping the page on the file and glancing up to me. "Yeah, that's what he said. But why Bronson? Why is he willing to help you now? Didn't he suggest-"

"Did you know Bronson's brother, Joel?" I asked.

He nodded and a sudden understanding seemed to dawn on his face. His grip on the page tightened to the point when I heard a soft ripping noise. His breathing was shallow and he was looking at me like I was crazy. He might have been right. Hell, everyone I'd met since starting to work for Vinnie might have been right, but I'd never been deterred by the thought that I might be crazy. Val had told me I was crazy when I'd informed her I was going to fly off the garage roof. And even though I'd broken my arm as a result of that, that feeling of freedom on the way down eclipsed any consequences I'd encountered after hitting the ground. I still dreamed of that feeling.

"No one is going to let that happen to you," Harry said adamantly. "That's why we have our protocols in place."

I shook my head. "That's the thing, though," I said. "Those protocols aren't winning any friends in the community. The community is our best resource, but you're unable to access it to its full potential because of the fear that comes from watching you guys kick doors in and drag people out." I reached across the desk, and put my hand over his, trying to will a sense of calm into him so that he wouldn't destroy my notes any more than he had already, and so that he would listen to me when I explained how important this cause was to me.

After a few moments he did let go of the page, smoothing it a little adjusting our hands so that his fingers were threaded through mine. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I just got you, so I don't wanna lose you to something preventable like this."

"And I don't want anyone else to have to lose someone the way Bronson did," I agreed. "But at the same time I want this team to be the best possible and that can't happen with things the way they are. Bronson wants to help me the way he should have helped his brother. We just want to make the whole operation a little friendlier."

"And you want my help with that?" he asked.

I smiled. "I want everyone's help," I said. "The more people that are in on the agenda, the better the results."

"Count me in, then," he said, standing with my hand still gripped in his. He used it to urge me to my feet and drag me around to his side of the desk, wrapping his free arm around my back to pull me closer to him than I'd ever been. We'd hugged before, yeah, but this was different. "Stephanie Plum," he said, holding my gaze from mere inches away. "You are an amazing woman and I can't believe it has taken almost a day of us officially dating for me to get around to this, but can I kiss you?"

I'd like to say that my reaction was cool, and suave, and definitely not dorky at all. I'd like to say that I took matters into my own hands and leaned up to join our mouths myself. I'd like to say that I said yes and we kissed and that it was glorious. Buuuuuuut, I'd be lying. Like most things when people ask my opinion or for my permission, I found myself melting. No one had ever announced their intent to kiss me, or asked if they could. The men I'd dated had always taken what they wanted. Sure, it was consensual, but there was a difference between giving in to the kiss they sprung on me, and having the man ask if it was okay for him to kiss me. I found myself without the appropriate words to respond. Instead, all that escaped my mouth was a bit of a whimper as my insides turned to jelly and a nod, just in case he misinterpreted the sound.

The anticipation that came from the knowledge that I was about to be kissed was agonising. The butterflies in my stomach were flitting about like crazy, and I was now craving that first touch of his lips on mine. But, like most things in life, Harry was taking his time with it, savouring the moment. His eyes locked with mine for a moment, seeming to weigh up the desire he found there before slowly travelling across my cheek to my ear where he reached up to tuck a tendril of hair away. From there, his fingertips followed the path of his eyes, brushing lightly along the line of my jaw until he reached my chin, one thumb extending upwards to slide lazily across my bottom lip. A lip that suddenly felt much too dry.

Trying to suppress a shiver as it raced down my spine, I let the tip of my tongue dart out to moisten the area he'd just left behind. Harry's darkening expression, full of hunger, caused a welcome heat to trickle into my lower stomach.

"God, Steph," he groaned, leaning in closer, even as my eyes snapped up to his. "I can't believe I haven't kissed you yet."

I could feel hi chest rising and falling under my hands (when had I fisted my fingers in his shirt?) betraying how much he was affected by the building tension between us. Good. I'd hate for it to be just me. Dickie had always seemed so half hearted when we'd kissed, like he was mentally calculating next month's grocery bill, and look how that had worked out. I don't even know why he bothered marrying me id he was just going to screw around behind my back anyway. It just made now sense.

"Steph" Harry asked, his hands having come up to cradle either side of my head while I was distracting myself with bitter thoughts. "You still want this?"

"Of course," I breathed, confused as to how he could possibly think I didn't. My heart was beating a mile a minute. Couldn't he hear it? Could he feel how desperate I was for this?

"Are you sure?" he asked, backing up an inch to scrutinise me. "You just started scowling. Am I doing something wrong?"

"No," I said. I made an effort to smooth out my expression before I spoke again; a hard task when you don't have a mirror present to check your progress in. "Sorry," I added. "I was just thinking."

He let his hands slide down from my head, coming to rest gently on my shoulders, all the while staring intently into my eyes, like he was trying to figure out the meaning of life, or a really hard math sum. This wasn't boding well for the kiss we'd about to have. This was too serious. Seriousness never led to kissing. Seriousness led to arguments and hurt feelings and-

"What were you thinking about?" he asked gently.

I didn't want to pursue the topic, because it would bring down the mood, but I also didn't want to lie to him. Our relationship was brand new, I didn't want to start it off on the deceitful path. Ever. But especially not so soon. So, wishing I'd managed to keep my thoughts off my face for a change, I sighed, "My ex."

The change in Harry's body was immediate. Where a moment ago it had been soft lines and relaxed posture, now he was stiff, and hard, his muscles seeming to grow in response to my words, like a dog with his hackles raised. "The cop?" he questioned, his hand's slipping down further to grip my upper arms, probably a little tighter than he meant to, but I couldn't exactly fault him. Morelli was an ass. For me to be thinking about him while we were attempting to be intimate was offensive. To both of us.

"Not the cop," I assured him. "My ex-husband. Dickie. I was just thinking about how things feel different with you. How it feels… more. We haven't even kissed yet and-"

"You shouldn't be thinking about other men while I'm caressing you," Harry said, seriously. "If you have enough brain cells left not under my spell, then I'm not doing it right."

"Trust me," I said. "You're doing it right. I just-"

But I didn't have enough time to finish my sentence because his lips were on mine and any coherent thoughts I had been having flew straight out of my head, possibly never to be seen again. I don't know, because in that moment, it was just me, and Harry, and all the sensations he was reawakening within my body, within my heart. I couldn't get close enough to him. I wanted to take this relationship slow. For once in my life, I wanted to savour the beginning, the uncertainty, the getting to know you, without the pressure of a physical relationship, the call of our physical needs getting the better – or worse – of us. But damn, it had been a long time, and he seemed to know just the right spots to hit to send me crazy. I didn't want it to end. But I didn't want to rush things.

"Harry?" a voice called from out in the lab. "You here?"

 _Saved by the bell,_ I thought, slowly extracting myself from his embrace and readjusting the parts of my clothing that had been rumpled and hitched during out entanglement. Harry, attempting to do the same, but much slower, swore under his breath. Louder, he said, "Yeah. I'll be right out."

* * *

 _ **I'd like to apologise for every bit of awkwardness about the Harry-Steph relationship. I'm Demisexual and relationships are a huge source of confusion for me. And I realised while writing this chapter that I've never actually written a**_ **budding _relationship. They've always already been in a (sort of) relationship. These first stages are very mysterious and I'm still figuring out how to write them._**


	62. Chapter 62

_Well, I'm updating a little late this week, but I'm still updating._ _April has turned out to be a terrible month to set a 30 000 word goal. I've had a crazy amount going on, and on top of that I've been battling some increasing wrist pain the last couple of weeks._

 **Chapter 62**

I only put in a half day, my headache returning with enough force to give me pause around lunch time, at which point I took Harry's advice and returned to my apartment. After swallowing some pain pills and forcing myself to eat a sandwich even though the pain in my head was causing some mild nausea, I curled up on my bed – my glorious bed that I was separated from too soon this morning – and took a nap.

Sleep is a wonderful thing. It has this amazing ability to heal small things that are wrong, like when you turn your computer off and back on again to fix the lag, or because the screen froze. Turning your brain off and back on again can soothe headaches, quiet nerves, and calm the soul, and a whole lot more. By the time I waded up from that sleep place a few hours later, I was feeling refreshed and rested. My headache was gone, taking the nausea with it and as I stretched out my limbs, I felt _good._

I had a boyfriend who loved me. There were people in Boston Rangeman determined to help me do my job better and help others do theirs more effectively. There were people in Trenton who cared for me more than I would probably ever know. And I was free for the rest of the weekend. Technically, I could have been free for the whole weekend, my Saturdays were optional, but after my impromptu trip, I needed to catch up on the files I'd abandoned in my inbox before more arrived on Monday.

Rolling, lazily over to the edge of the bed, I swung my legs over the edge and grabbed my phone off the bedside table as I sat up, checking the time and any messages that I might have missed when I was in update and restart mode. It was a little after five, and there were two texts and a missed call waiting for my attention.

Text number one, from Bobby, was just a check in, making sure I was taking care of myself.

Text number two, from Harry, was an invitation: " _Pick you up at seven?"_ I checked the time again and calculated how long it would take me to get ready to go out, before shooting off an affirmative reply and moving on to the missed call.

I froze.

It was from my mother.

The old apprehension that I thought I'd put behind me when Dad assured me that Mom was completely on my side with the latest break up with Morelli, hit me like a tonne of bricks. I don't think it will ever matter how much time has passed, whether I'd done anything wrong, or how supportive my mother appeared to be of my life, seeing that missed call notification next to her number was always going to set me on track for a heart attack. With my breathing picking up – one of the first signs of a panic attack – I hit the button to listen to the voicemail Mom had left me, and was pleasantly surprised.

"Hi, Stephanie," Mom said, her tone conversational. Not what it usually sounded like on messages. "It's your mother. I'm just calling to check in. Your father said his friend at Rangeman, the one with the face tattoo, said you were at the hospital yesterday being checked over for a head injury. I hope you're doing okay. Call me when you get a chance."

I was kinda shocked. I don't think my mother had ever left a message like that on my phone. Ever. Was this what it felt like to be Valerie? Was this the kind of interaction that my sister got to deal with regularly? It was like falling through a mirror into Wonderland. Ordinarily, I would ignore a voicemail from my mother and just face her wrath when next I needed to mooch a meal. But this was different. This wasn't wrath. This sounded like genuine concern for my wellbeing. She wasn't accusing me of being a fuck up daughter for having to go to the hospital for head injury. She wasn't accusing me of being reckless. She was just checking in. Seeing how I was.

I found myself hitting call button on her contact page.

"Hello?" she answered after several rings.

"Hi, Mom," I replied. It felt weird. I couldn't remember the last time I'd called my mother and she hadn't been angry at me. "It's Stephanie."

"Stephanie?" she gasped. "Oh thank goodness! I was so worried. When your father said you'd had a head injury I kept thinking you'd lost your memories, or you were brain damaged, or you were a paraplegic. I thought I'd never get to speak to my baby ever again and-"

"Mom," I interrupted, rubbing my free hand over my face. She always did have a habit of overreacting. "Mom, I'm fine. It's just a concussion."

"What happened?" she asked, which was new. Usually, she already had all the details from her gossipy friends and was fully prepared with an argument about how I was the worst daughter in the world. Would she have enough material saved up from previous fights to throw something together once I'd told her how I'd managed to injure my head? Only one way to find out, I guess.

I took a deep breath and explained to her about the skip Harry and I had been chasing and how the car had exploded when I ran past, throwing me backwards. And just for the sake of transparency, I also went on to tell her about how I'd refused to go to the hospital to get checked over straight away, and how I'd then found out that Bobby was in hospital and how I'd driven all night to see for myself that he was okay, and the Trenton guys had insisted I get checked out.

She was silent for a moment after I finished speaking, and I had to wonder how much of the story Cal had passed on to Dad, and how much of that Dad had passed on to Mom. Did she already know all of that? Did she know _more_ than that? "Are you okay now?" she finally asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm fine. I get headaches, but that's normal."

"Thank you for calling me back," she said quietly, emotion suddenly making her voice thick. "It means a lot me that you're doing okay."

My own emotions were attempting to take control of my body, wreaking havoc. This had to be the most sincere conversation I'd ever had with my mom. "I'm sorry I didn't call sooner," I said, feeling the need to keep this real interaction going. "I've had a lot going on and-"

"And I've never made things easy for you in the past," she finished for me. "I understand. Your father has kept me informed with everything he knows, and that Rangeman with the face tattoo-"

"Cal," I corrected her. "His name is Cal."

"Cal has given us weekly updates about your progress, too," she said.

I knew that she'd mentioned Cal being Dad's friend at the beginning of the phone call, but for some reason that hadn't really clicked in my brain. Was Dad keeping in contact with Cal? I knew that Dad had bought Cal a case of beer to say thank you for defending me to Morelli, but I'd thought that was as far as it went. If Cal was telling my Dad – and my Mom? – about how my life was going up here in Boston, did that mean he'd told them about Harry? Did Cal know about Harry? Would Ranger, Tank, Bobby and Lester have shared that kind of information with the rest of the guys? Or were they as tight lipped about my current relationship status as they were about their secret government missions? I know that the Merry Men liked to keep up to date on my life so that they were prepared when I inevitably needed rescuing, but was Harry an essential piece of information?

Furthermore, would the Musketeers have contacted the Merry Men when they found out that Harry and I are together? They'd been warned not to gossip and talk about me behind my back, but was there an exception when it came to informing the Trenton crew?

"Stephanie?" Mom said. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, Mom," I said, nodding even though she couldn't see me. "I'm still here, but, I'm going to have to run. I, uh, have a date tonight, and I need to get ready."

"A date?" Mom asked, and I could just hear her eyebrows rising along with her voice. The sounds of the television in the background grew louder, I could only assume that Mom was trying to get my father's attention. "You're going on a date?" she questioned. "So soon after your break up with Joseph?"

"It's been six months," I pointed out, checking the time. I really couldn't afford a long conversation about this right now, but I felt I owed it to my mother to let her know that I was doing okay after all the shit storms that had plagued my life recently. "And Harry genuinely cares about me, Mom. He's been so supportive since I moved to Boston."

"Will you bring him to Trenton to meet us?" she asked.

I almost laughed. She didn't like being left out of my life, and I think she realised how much she'd missed out on by being my enemy all the time. "It's a first date," I told her. "We only just realised our feelings for each other two days ago."

"I'd still like to meet him," she said firmly. "Will you visit with him?"

"I've gotta go, Mom," I announced, rather than answer that particular question. "I love you. Tell Daddy I love him, too."

When I'd waited for her replying goodbye, so as not to be recast as the rude, inconsiderate daughter once more, I hung up, dropped the phone back onto the bedside table, and hustled my way through a shower. I was wrapped in a towel and standing in front of my closet fifteen minutes later, faced with a dilemma. What was I supposed to wear? I'd only really brought casual clothes and uniforms with me from Trenton, and the only fancy attire I had was the red dress from the distraction which I would probably never wear again. I don't even know why I kept it. The memories attached to it were too painful.

On a spur of the moment decision, I reefed the dress from its hanger, grabbed my phone off the bedside table once more stalked out to the kitchen, simultaneously stuffing the distraction dress into the trash can and dialling Mary Lou. She'd never steered me wrong before, and I was hoping she could make a working solution out of my limited resources now.

"Yeah?" she said distractedly upon picking up. I could hear the boys arguing in the background. I'd clearly picked an inconvenient time. Though I had to say, it was almost always an inconvenient time to call Mary Lou. She lived in a mad house. Three preteen boys and a husband was a burden I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, let alone my best friend. But she seemed happy enough with her life decisions when things were going well, so I didn't judge.

"What do people wear on dates these day?" I asked cutting straight to the chase. I didn't have time to beat around the bush, and neither did she if the rising voices in the background were anything to judge by.

"Steph?" she said, a soft click was followed by a sudden muffling of the background noise, she must have gone into hiding. "Good to know you're still alive."

"Yeah, I know," I sighed. "I'm a terrible friend."

"Whatever," she scoffed. "What's this about a date?"

I smiled, thanking the universe for sending my Mary Lou as a best friend, I'd really hit the jackpot. "What am I supposed to wear on a date with someone who as literally seen me at my worst?" I asked.

She gasped. "You're going on a date with Ranger?"

"Uh, no," I said. "I-"

"You better hadn't be going on a fucking date with Morelli," she cut me off sternly, switching effortlessly into rhino mode. She had a way of making it almost majestic. "Not after he-"

"Woah, woah, woah," I said, holding out my free hand in the universal placating motion, even though she couldn't see me. "Calm down, Mare. There is absolutely no way I'm going anywhere near Morelli ever again. You know that. What he did is unforgivable."

She huffed out a breath, and I pictured the way she would put her hand on her hip, assessing me with those eyes that saw through everything. "Then who are you going on a date with?" she demanded.

"Harry," I said simply, relishing the rush of heat through my body as I reminded myself that I was going on a date with him.

"And who's Harry?" she pressed.

"Look," I sighed. "I don't have time for an inquisition right now. He's picking me up at seven and I _know_ he's always early. I have exactly twenty minutes to figure out what to wear and make myself look presentable."

This information must have hit the right buttons on Mary Lou's control panel, because when she spoke again she was in full problem solving mode. "Where is he taking you?"

"Dinner and a movie, last I checked, but that might not be the case anymore."

"Hmm. And you say he's seen you at your worst?"

I pictured my hair when I removed the beanie from my head in Mr. Alexander's salon, suppressing a shudder. "Yes."

"Then wear something to make him forget about your worst," she advised. "Show him your best. Which means you want something that will bring out your eyes. It's less about what you wear and more about how you do your make up. But you also want to accentuate your legs."

"Okay," I said slowly. "But a) I don't have time for the full shebang. And b) I only have jeans and cargos and a few t-shirts."

"Then focus on your boobs," Mary Lou suggested. "Pick your tightest t-shirt with the lowest neckline, bump up the girls and-"

There was a knock at the door. "I gotta go," I told her. "He's at the door. Thanks for your advice."

"You're gonna call me later and give me a proper run down on this guy, right?" she asked, though her tone made it sound more like a firm instruction, the kind you couldn't ignore if you wanted to remain amongst the living.

"Of course," I assured her. "See ya, Mare."

I hurriedly hung up, took two steps toward the bedroom door, remembered I was still only wearing a towel and did an abrupt about face, snatching out a t-shirt and jeans, along with a matching bra and panties set and wriggling into them.

Another knock sounded as I was buttoning my fly, and I called out to confirm that I'd heard him, just in case he decided to take a leaf out of Bronson's book and hack the key system to check on me. I'd caused everyone enough panic for one week, perhaps even a lifetime. And speaking of lifetimes, I'd had enough people breaking into my apartment to last me a lifetime as well, not just here in Boston, where the tally was at two after this morning, but also back home where the tally was so high that I'd lost count. Probably, I could ask some of the Merry Men, or maybe the Trenton Police department for an official count, but I was pretty sure I didn't want to know the number anyway. Some things are better left unknown.

Harry was leaning against the hallway wall opposite my door when I opened it, little more than a minute later. Clearly, he'd settled in to wait when I'd said I wasn't ready. The fact that he hadn't attempted to force entry surprised me, which probably said more about my past relationships and what I had allowed myself to put up with than I cared to admit in that moment. I'd already freaked him out this morning when I'd started thinking about my exes when all he'd done was ask to kiss me. I didn't have to be a therapist to realise that dwelling on those past failures was not the way to move forward in a healthy loving relationship.

"Hey," he said, pushing off the wall to meet me at the threshold when I stepped forward. "Ready to go?"

"Provided what I'm wearing is appropriate," I replied. "I just have to grab my purse."

He took another step toward me, closing out the space between us as he wrapped his arms around my waist. "What you're wearing is perfect," he assured me, placing a quick, chaste kiss on my lips. "I wouldn't have you any other way."

My insides did a little flip flop as he pulled back an inch to meet my gaze. "I wasn't sure whether the restaurant you'd choses warranted something a little fancier," I admitted, tugging the hem of my top down.

He smiled, squeezing my waist once and dropping his hands. "I have to say," he said. "I am quite partial to that red number you wore to the distraction, but I figured you have some bad memories attached to it after that night."

"No kidding," I chuckled, doing my best to push emerging memories to the back of my mind. I didn't need to focus on that right now. "I haven't even spared it a second glance since that night until I was rifling through my wardrobe earlier."

"I wanted to throw it straight in the trash," Harry explained. "Or burn it."

"It's an amazing dress," I said, retreating back to the kitchen counter where I'd dumped my handbag earlier today. "I've never found anything that fits me as well as it did. But you're right. It doesn't have a great track record. In fact, when I saw it on the hanger just before, I shoved it straight in the trash."

Harry nodded from the doorway. "Ritual burning still appeals if you're up for it," he said with a wicked glint in his eye. Was he secretly a pyromaniac? Did every man have a little bit of pyro inside them? "Or Reese suggested donating it. She said something about some other woman having better luck with it."

"It's a nice thought," I agreed, stepping back into the hall and allowing Harry to lock the door after us. "But I don't relish passing the bad ju-ju on to someone else."

"I understand," he said handing my back my key fob. "And I respect your decision. Maybe we can take it to the roof top next time Lock fires up the grill. It'll blend right in; no one will even notice. I've never seen more burnt burgers than at Shock's thirtieth." He shook his head ruefully at the apparent memory, then held out an arm for me to lead the way to the elevators. "Speaking of burgers, though," he said. "I thought we'd check out that new burger place that's just opened up." He paused to hit the call button as we reached the metal doors of the elevator. "It has that outdoor seating area, we can enjoy the fresh air and I won't have to remove my hat."

I nodded my understanding, but really, I was just thinking about how I hadn't even taken not f his hat which he'd clearly changed out since I saw him earlier. It was just becoming a part of him. Changing his hats was akin to when women change their hair from braids to pony tails, the only difference being that the hats weren't permanently attached to him.

I took a moment, now, to admire the trilby upon his head, a neutral grey colour that neither stood out outrageously, nor fully blended into the background. It complimented his navy blue button down and washed out jeans. I didn't often have the opportunity to see Harry out of his uniform, despite the number of afternoons and evenings spent playing board games at his house, and he wasn't as classically handsome as Ranger, nor as ruggedly good looking as Joe, but look at him now, I was reminded of that first morning when he'd arrived at Hugh's office door, clean shaven and sporting those twinkling grey eyes and that heart-warming grin. I can't believe I hadn't been completely lost to the power of his quirk charm right from the get go.

Under different circumstances, it's possible that I could have been. Had I not just been through a messy and publicly humiliating break up. Had I not already been jaded by past relationships. Had I not been escaping my past. If I'd arrived in Boston fresh and free of turmoil, would we have realised our feelings for each other quicker? Or was everything that had happened up until this point essential in creating our bond?

Before I managed to get into some kind of existential crisis, the elevator doors dinged open, revealing the empty space inside. Harry tugged me forward into the box and we were silent as the doors closed.

"We could go somewhere else if you don't want-" Harry tried to offer, breaking the brief silence and highlighting his desire to make sure I enjoyed our evening.

"Burgers sound great," I said firmly, leaning up press a kiss to his lips. "Your comfort is important, so if the burger joint suits you, that's where we'll go." I tried to step back to a more acceptable distance to keep in a workplace elevator, conscious of the fact that the guys on monitors also cycled through the Rangeman building feeds, but Harry caught my hips, dragging me back to him until he could claim my mouth back, deepening the kiss until my toes curled in my shoes and fires had started all over my body, before abruptly stepping back.

"More of that later," he panted, pressing a much quicker kiss to my lips and stepping back slightly, maintaining contact by lacing his hands through mine. "Elevator doors are about to open, and there's a high possibility that the group heading to Suzan's Diner is still assembling. I know we're not actively hiding our relationship, but for the maybe just for now we should keep PDA to a minimum in the building."

"Good plan," I nodded, marvelling at how steady my voice was when my heart was pounding in my chest and my breathing was erratic. "We can confirm that we're in a relationship, but we don't need to flaunt it."

The doors opened and no less than twenty heads turned to face us as we stepped out, hand in hand. "Exactly," he nodded.

* * *

 _ **Thank you to everyone who is still reading along, and especially those who are reviewing practically every chapter. You feel like my own personal little spirit team, encouraging me when I'm feeling lost.**_


	63. Chapter 63

_It turns out that my wrist pain is Tendonitis. Yay me! It should go away on it's own with rest etc, which I've been trying to do, which explains my absence from posting the last few weeks. I tend to do a lot of drafting long hand, which is painful at the moment. Today and yesterday I decided to ignore the consequences of pain and give in to the nagging muse that has been getting frustrated as I refrained from writing._

 **Chapter 63**

By the time Harry dropped me in the Rangeman parking lot after the movie, I had already received two texts from Mary-Lou and missed one phone call. IT wasn't particularly late, but I knew that if I didn't get back to her soon with some details, she was likely to hop a flight to Boston and hunt me down herself, tying me to a chair until I gave her the information she wanted. It was the burg mother in her. There was an inherent need in all mothers in the Burg to know what was going on in their child's life at any given moment. I had endured it for over thirty years with my own mother, and given how influential Mary-Lou had been in my life, it made sense that as soon as her maternal instincts had kicked in, their range extended to me. She didn't often go out of her way to insert herself into my business, but given my life in recent months, I can't say I was surprised that after reaching out to her this afternoon, she was eager to find out more.

I didn't bother to wait until I'd reached my apartment before calling her back. Instead, as the elevator doors closes, slowly blocking Harry's SUV from my sight, I pulled out my phone, and dialled my best friend.

"Took you long enough," she said, by way of greeting.

"Forgive me for wanting to finish my date before calling my friend to give her all the juicy details," I retorted, leaning back against the wall of the elevator as it began to rise.

"So there's juicy details?" she intoned, her voice full of expectation. "I didn't think you did that kind of thing on a first date?" The question of scandal was clear in her voice, but I should have expected it. She was always quick to jump to the sex conclusion.

I shook my head, suppressing a groan. "I don't," I assured her. "And you know that."

"I'm only teasing," she laughed. "You're so easy to rile up after a first date."

I didn't dignify that with a response. Partly because it would be the end of any real conversation we had tonight, since it would serve as encouragement for her to continue teasing and making puns for as long as I stayed on the line. And partly because the elevator doors had opened and I was now standing in front of half a dozen Musketeers.

I smiled tightly at them as they shuffled to the side, allowing me to pass through into the corridor, and made quick work of the distance between the elevator and my apartment. By the time I had closed the door behind me, Mary-Lou had already taken my silence for what it was, and was rattling off a list of questioned we had agreed upon in our youth as a safety precaution for when one of the other of us started dating a new man. They'd evolved over the years along with our needs in a man, and we hadn't needed to pull them out for the last half a dozen years as I'd fallen into an unhealthy pattern of man hopping between Ranger and Morelli, but it was clear that Mary Lou knew them by rote. And given that I had started them along with her inside my head, it appeared I did too. Not surprising, I suppose, when you think about all the losers we'd both gone out with in our twenties.

"What's his last name?" she asked. "Where does he live? What does he do for work? Does he drive? Is he a felon? What's his shoe size?" Each question tumbled over the last as they fell out of her mouth. I was proud to say that I knew the answer to almost all of them, which was more than I could say when I stated seeing Ranger in a more personal setting. But I had to admit, that there were still some questions that were a bit of a mystery to me.

"Hold up," I said, kicking off my shoes, dropping my purse, and making a bee line for the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. "Rewind, start again, and go slow. I'll give you all the information you need, if you give me enough time to answer."

"What's his last name?" Mary-Lou repeated, returning to the top of the list as she spoke in an exaggerated slow voice.

I opened my mouth to reply, sure that the answer was on the tip of my tongue, but as I stared down at the bottle I'd been reaching for, my movements stilled. I didn't know his last name. I had worked with him for almost three months, and I still hadn't learned his last name. I had been to his house. I had met his sister. I had even glanced at his pile of mail on the kitchen counter. But I didn't know his last name. I had never thought to ask. It hadn't seemed important. But now that we were dating…

"I don't know," I admitted.

Mary- Lou scoffed, the sound full of static in my ear. "Yeah, right," she said, her disbelief clear. "This from the girl who refused to accept Tommy Tippy's invitation to the school dance until you knew his actual last name."

Finally thawing my frozen movements, I snatched the water from the shelf and closed the door, leaning back against it as a breathed deeply. "I really don't know his last name," I assured her.

"Okay then," she said, brushing the matter aside. "There's your homework for tomorrow. Do you know where he lives?"

"Yes."

"And you obviously know what he does for work, since you work with him?"

"Tech expert in charge of security system installations for Boston Rangeman," I informed easily.

"A nerd boy. Good for you. It should make a nice change from the tough guy act you've been chasing the last few years." After a pause, during which time I switched to speaker phone and carried her and the water to the bedroom, she asked, "Does he drive?"

I confirmed that he did while shimmying out of my jeans. "Which is a good thing at the moment," I added. "Since I'm not allowed because of my concussion."

"Personal chauffer. Nice," she commented. "What's his shoe size?"

Flinging the jeans aside with a flick of my foot, I almost fell over as her question shocked the balance right out of me. "I'm sorry, what?" I stammered, grabbing the bedside table to keep from landing on my ass. "That's not part of the approved list."

"I've had a lot of time to think of some new exciting questions," Mare pointed out. "Waiting for you to get back to me. Lenny suggested that one, actually. So how big are his feet?"

I tried to picture them. At the end of his legs. A couple of combat boots holding him up, attaching him to the floor. But it was no use. They may as well have been Hank's boots for all the knowledge I had of his shoe size. It wasn't something I went around asking the guys. And it wasn't like I spent a great deal of time staring at their feet. Not when there were so many muscular chests and arms to ogle. And with Harry the interest was more intellectual than it was physical. I'm not saying he's not as physically gorgeous as every other man that works in Ranger's company, because he is. He's on the smaller side for a Rangman, but I can tell that he meets the standards with ease. It just wasn't what I found attractive about him.

"Add it to your homework list," she said when I took too long to answer. "Is he a felon?"

"I wanna say that he's not," I told her, slipping into a pair of leggings and a loose t-shirt that I'd been using as pyjamas. "But it's never come up, and knowing what I know of the Trenton guys' backgrounds, it's not completely out of the question."

"Wow," Mary Lou breathed. "You have a lot of homework to get through. I can't believe you agreed to a date without all of this information under your belt."

I sighed, flopping down into my thinking position on the bed and dragging the phone closer so that it rested on my chest. "Is it really that important to have all this information up front?" I asked.

"These are the questions you agreed to, Steph," she admonished.

I barely suppressed another sigh as it bubbled up inside me. "I know," I agreed. "But that was a long time ago. We were young, and stupid. We needed that guidance."

"First of all," she said. "Speak for yourself, because I have never been stupid. And second, I guess we should probably be mature enough to gauge a man without needing to know all this stuff up front. Women's intuition, and all that."

"My relationship history would say otherwise," I pointed out. "Dickie… Morelli…. Hell, even Ranger has black marks against his name."

She made a noise of agreement. "But at least you know all their last names." There was silence for a beat or two, and I was preparing for some more questions about Harry that I probably wasn't going to be able to answer, but when Mary-Lou spoke again, it was not to shame me about my lack of knowledge. Apparently, she was satisfied with my lack of answers about my new significant other, because she was now moving on to the details of the actual date. "So, how was it?"

I took a moment to really reflect on the evening. I had hung out with Harry one on one a fair few times now, and it had always been so easy, but tonight it was…. "Awkward?" I finally replied, closing my eyes against the images that flashed through my head. It was almost painful. I wanted it to work out between us, but…

"Awkward how?" Mary Lou asked, her voice deliberately calm. "What happened?"

"Well, I… I mean…," I stammered, trying to put my feelings into words. It was a difficult process that I'd never been very good at it. Talking to my therapist had been good practice, but it was still more or less like pulling teeth. "What do people even talk about on dates?"

The laugh that came back at me could have been misconstrued as something less than supportive, if it wasn't for the fact that I started laughing right alongside her. And just like that, the tension I'd been holding throughout my entire body released. My limbs relaxed into a spaghetti-like consistency and my chuckles turned into cackles as I recalled having this exact conversation before my very first real date with a guy back when we were thirteen. I was just as clueless then as I was now, it seemed.

"I think they usually ask each other get-to-know-you questions, if I recall," Mare eventually explained through her dying laughter. "Which, you probably could have done with, since you can't even tell me his last name!" she added, her mirth picking up again so that her next words were almost incomprehensible. "HowamIsupposedtoFacebookstalkhimifIdon'tknowhislastname?"

"I'm pretty sure you don't need to Facebook stalk him," I assured her. "Anything you need to know, I will tell you."

"Except his last name, shoe size, and whether he's a felon," she reminded me. "We've already established that you don't know those facts."

Eventually, we managed to pull ourselves together, leaving our sixteen year old selves behind us as we sobered up. I was still lying on my back on the bed with the phone on my chest, and as I took in a few deep breaths, catching the phone as it was tipped off, Mary Lou got us back on topic.

"So how was the actual date?" she asked, her tone serious.

"Well, apart from the awkwardness of neither of us knowing what to talk about, it was fine," I said.

Mary Lou snorted. "What do you and Harry usually talk about?" she asked.

I thought hard about that question, because the answer wasn't an easy one. We talked about literally anything when we were together. There were all the usual work topics, like training, security, installations, and my differing ideas of how skip tracing should be done. Then there were more personal topics, like who Reese was seeing at the moment, the latest news I'd heard from Trenton, and just general soul baring discussions. There wasn't much that we hadn't brought up in conversation, and I had a feeling that there wasn't much that I wouldn't tell him if he asked.

"Everything," I said, even though I knew it sounded lame. "We pretty much talk about everything."

"You talk about everything?" she repeated questioningly.

"Yes."

"But you couldn't find anything to talk about on your date?"

I sighed. "No. I mean… Everything just seems so much more important on a date. We spoke about stuff, but it was just the usual stuff, and I don't know if that means we're not compatible or if it-"

"Steph," she interrupted. "You shouldn't worry about stuff like this. If it's meant to be, it's meant to be."

"But I haven't seriously dated anyone in a long time," I pointed out. "Morelli doesn't count, because he's Morelli, he's just a fixture that's always been in my life, so it was easy to fall into a pattern with him. And Ranger doesn't count because any date we had was either a cover for work, or the result of a deal. And Dickie-"

"Don't," Mary Lou admonished sharply. "Even bother bringing The Dick into this conversation. He in no way represents your capacity for love. Nor does Morelli. And as for Ranger, if he's not willing to commit there's no point in dwelling on it. You have a new opportunity to explore yourself with someone who genuinely cares about you and doesn't want to change you. So you felt awkward on a date, things will get easier as you get to know each other better."

"Thanks, Mare," I muttered. "You always know what to say."

"I sure do," she agreed, no a hint of modesty about her. "Now tell me the whole story of how you got together, and what happened on the date. And don't skimp on the details."

* * *

 _ **Hopefully, I'll be able to get back to regular updates soon.**_


	64. Chapter 64

_Do not adjust your device screen! I am, indeed, still alive! I would like to apologise for the long absence, but it was necessary. Firstly, because of my lovely friend tendonitis, which needed time to heel. And secondly because when I had finally (mostly) recovered and was super ready to start writing, my laptop decided to fail on me (It gave me the blue screen of death and then deleted a hour and half of work). Not surprising given how old it is. So I remedied the situation by buying a new laptop and celebrated by picking up this story to bang out a chapter. WOO!_

 **Chapter 64**

Predictably, Monday morning, I was called into Hugh's office. I knew it was coming. I'd breached protocol pretty severely by taking the SUV, and I'd skipped work without notifying anyone. My only surprise in the occurrence of this meeting was that he'd waited so long to call me in. I'd been back in Boston for three days now. Hugh wasn't the kind of person to let something like this slide. The efficient, process driven running of the branch was a testament to his leadership and the respect the men had for the decisions and protocols that had been put in place.

By ten o'clock, I was staring at a search in progress and wondering whether I should bite the bullet and make an appointment to see Hugh myself, when my desk phone rang, jolting me from my thoughts. Not only was I lost inside my head, but I was pretty sure that that was the first time anyone had tried to contact me via my internal line. I couldn't remember it ever ringing. Most Musketeers just texted me their questions.

"Hello?" I answered cautiously.

"I need to see you in my office," Hugh informed me, not bothering – as was his custom - to beat around the bush.

"I'll be right up," I responded quickly, unsurprised when the connection immediately went dead.

I took a moment to do some deep breathing, calming, ever so slightly, the sudden bout of nerves that had rushed straight to my stomach. You'd think that after all my experience in high school, I'd be more used to being called to offices. But no. No mater how many times I had to face the authorities at hand, it never got easier.

"Early lunch?" Harry asked, glancing up from his laptop as I passed through the lab.

"Hugh's office," I corrected, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep from fiddling with everything in sight.

His brow furrowed. "About your disappearance?" he asked, his hands sliding off the keyboard he'd been tapping at. "That took a while."

"I know," I agreed. "I don't know how to feel about it. Like, I know it was coming, but is it better or worse that he's waited three days to call it."

Harry reached out his arm, wrapping it around my waist, dragging me to his side in a quick hug. "You'll be fine," he assured me, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. "And if you're not, I'll fight him."

The thought of Harry attempting to hold his own against anyone in Rangeman was so comical, that it was all I could do to suppress the laughter that threated to burst forth into a restrained kind of snorting noise. He'd assured me he has skills, and he must do, since he was part of the company, but I didn't think I'd ever seen him in action aside from the emergency job that we'd been called to late last week. He had a nice physique, but I'd learned early on in life that just because a person had abs, didn't mean they could fight. I'm sure Harry _could_ , but still…

"I will," he pressed, standing from his lab stool and putting a little distance between us. He appeared to be getting into a basic fighting stance when he continued to try to convince me that he'd be able to fight Hugh if the need arose. "I'll give him a HAH!" He chopped his right hand out to the side at an invisible target. "And then a WHOO-AH!" he cried, thrusting a fist into the space between us before rising back into a standing position and folding his hands innocently in front of himself. "And then I'd kick him, ma'am."

I narrowed my eyes at him, fighting the smile that was tugging at the corners of my lips. Was this how the guys always felt when I was talking about punching above my belt? "You'll kick him, huh?"

"With my steel cap boots," he assured me, nodding in a way that reminded me of Mary Alice.

"I'd pay to see that," I said, bumping my shoulder against his.

"Everyone would," he agreed. "We'd make a small fortune on ticket sales alone. And imagine if we opened a concession stand. We'd have almost enough to pay for all the medical bills I'm sure to have after Hugh retaliates."

Another snort escaped me, his light-hearted admission that he didn't stand a chance against Hugh's wrath having put me, oddly, at ease. I didn't stand a chance either, but something told me I had nothing to worry about. So, after giving Harry a light peck on the cheek – to test out the act of affection, mostly – I made my way out of the lab and up the stairs to the command floor.

Tree and Q were at the monitors station when I emerged on the fourth floor and I took a moment to send them a finger wave as I passed the desk. They each waved back, though I couldn't help but notice the way Q leaned over to whisper in Tree's ear while his eyes were still locked on me.

"Is there a problem?" I asked pointedly, turning back to face them and crossing my arms over my chest. "Something you need to share with the class, Trevor?"

Q blanched, glancing around. "Can you not call me that?"

"I can. But it depends on your actions. What are you whispering about behind my back?"

Tree looked from Q to me and then back to Q. "You need to tell her," he said solemnly. "She has the right to know what she's getting in to."

"Getting into?" Q questioned, raising an eyebrow. "I think she's well and truly in the thick of this. Everyone knows she's right at the centre of-"

Before he could finish his explanation, or lack thereof, I felt a presence behind me, a tingle shivering across the back of my neck. "Ranger," I stated calmly, dots starting to connect. Tree and Q were referring to Ranger's presence in Boston and, presumably, Hugh's office. They knew I was close with the boss, but they thought I should have a heads up that he was here.

"You always know," Ranger said quietly from behind my left shoulder.

"The silent void behind me and that terrified looks on the men's faces gives you away," I shrugged, turning to face him. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking on the other branches before I resume management of Haywood," he explained. "Tank prefers if I just extend my absence rather than taking up the reins only to leave again, even for a short time."

"That makes sense," I nodded. "Do you always check on the other branches in person when you return from a mission?"

Ranger did a barely-there shoulder movement, that I figured was the equivalent of a shrug for him. "When I've been away this long, I think it's important to touch base and show my face, just in case anyone forgot what it looks like."

"So, this visit has nothing to do with the fact that I'm here?" I pressed. He'd been known, in the past, to spin a convenient truth when he appeared out of nowhere. My Spidey Senses were telling me this was probably one of those times.

"That may have contributed to some of my decisions to a small degree," he conceded. "I've never set you loose on another team before. Gotta make sure they're okay."

"Like I'm the one doing the damage?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

Ranger sent me a small smile. "You have a tendency to corrupt my men, Babe," he stated. "I need to make sure you haven't turned them soft."

"Still hard as ever, sir," Tree announced from the monitor desk where he'd apparently been eaves dropping.

I almost choked on my laughter when Ranger raised that one eyebrow at him and replied with a calm, "You should see a doctor if that lasts more than four hours."

Tree's face went beet red almost instantly as he realised that his boss had just made an erection joke. I can't say my complexion was any better, as I struggled to suck in a decent breath. Between the shock of the innuendo and the hilarity of the situation, I was finding it hard to resume regular oxygen intake processes. "Hugh is waiting for me in his office," I managed to gasp after a minute of battling my lungs.

"I know," Ranger replied calmly, moving to the side to allow me to lead the way down the hall. "I came out to investigate what was taking so long."

"And prove that you do indeed share some of the same genes as Lester by making a penis joke," I added.

"What can I say?" Ranger said as we reached Hugh's closed office door. "It feels good to be able to relax out of the line of fire."

I shook my head. "You should give people a warning before you whip out the dick humour," I warned.

He gave a half smile. "Got it," he said, knocking on the door. "Give warning before whipping it out."

"You're incorrigible when you're like this," I hissed as the door opened to reveal the branch manager, coffee mug in hand. "Sorry it took so long," I apologised, stepping through the doorway when he gestured for us to enter. "Q needed to give me a message on my way past."

Hugh nodded understanding. "Not a problem," he said, following Ranger and I further into the room. No one spoke as we all settled in our seats; Hugh behind his desk, Ranger and I each in the visitors chairs. Ranger, I noticed, chose to display a relaxed demeanour, probably secure in his authority over all those present. There was no situation that came to mind where Hugh would try to pull some kind of rank over Ranger, because a) he didn't have _any_ rank over Ranger, and b) he may rule this branch of the company with that iron fist of his, but when it all came down to it, he wasn't the most confident person I knew.

Hugh folded his hands on the desk in front of himself and met my gaze. "Let's get right down to it, shall we?" he suggested.

"Sounds great," Ranger said, before I could make myself nod, or reply, or anything. This earned him a look both from myself, and from Hugh, though if I had to guess, I'd say that it was for completely different reasons.

"Hawk tells me that you and a few men are working together to change the take down protocol?" Hugh asked, confusing me to no end. Didn't he call me in here to tear me a new one? To go over every mistake I'd made in the last week? To point out all my flaws? Where was the disciplinary hearing? Where was the punishment for my actions?

"We figured you've paid enough for your crimes," Ranger explained, probably reading the shocked expression on my face and instinctively knowing what I was thinking. It wasn't a hard guess to make. "You know what you did wrong, you're not going to do it again… deliberately. So let's move forward."

Unable to voice the relief that was now coursing through my veins like river rapids, I nodded dumbly. Inhaling a massive breath and letting it out slowly.

"Is it true you're meeting with these men to contest the protocol?" Hugh questioned.

My relief dwindled a little at hearing the wording of his question. That was not the most desirable wording. In fact, it planted a seed of doubt in my gut. Even though I was pretty sure I hadn't done anything wrong. Even though I wasn't the one who organised the meeting. Even though it wasn't my brainchild. But before I could get too bogged down in that doubt, I recalled part of the reason Tank organised for me to come up here.

"I believe my purpose here in Boston has been to sprinkle some of my methods onto this overly restrictive environment," I pointed out. "Tank's instructions were for me to teach the men up here my methods. Yes, the main area I'm able to tutor them in is research. I'm very good at searches. I have a sixth sense for finding those vital pieces of information that are going lead us to the skip. But as I've pointed out before, that's not the only thing that sets me apart from other Rangemen. I have a very good success rate back in Trenton, if you don't count the amount of disasters I've accumulated along the way. And ninety-five percent of the time I make those captures without drawing my gun. I know that my methods aren't the best, but I'm also aware that the methods you preach are also not stellar. Bronson suggested that we work together to try to find a happy medium."

"I see," Hugh said, shuffling some papers on his desk. "Who is the rest of the group working on this with you?"

"Mungo, and Barrel," I said easily. "We figured it would a good idea to get our head of weapons and close combat guru on board to ensure we're thinking things through on all fronts."

"And what does Bronson bring to the table?" Ranger asked, stretching out his leg as he leaned further back in the chair.

"Bronson brings the desire to make up for his past mistakes and to honour his late brother's memory by doing something that would make him proud," I explained. "Joel's mindset was apparently like mine. Bronson wants to create an environment that he could have thrived in. Combining the guys' knowledge and skills with my aversion to guns and violence has the potential to open a lot of doors up here in Boston."

Hugh stared at me for a long moment. Unblinking. Unnerving. But when he finally did open his mouth, it was not to order me to stop my foolishness. "I'd like a proposal on my desk by seventeen hundred tomorrow," he said firmly. "If you're going to pursue this, I need to know that you at least have a plan for how to go about it. Speak to your team, nut it out, write it down."

I nodded again, thankful that he wasn't going to pull the plug prematurely. He was at least giving us a chance to fix the sorry state of affairs he'd allowed to germinate.

"Dismissed," he added as he reached for his coffee mug, and I wasted no time vacating the office. It wasn't until I'd reached monitor station once more that I realised Ranger was following me.

"You really put him in his place," he pointed out, tucking his hands in his pocket. I got the impression that if he was freer with his body, he'd be swinging back on his heels right now, he was so pleased with himself. Though I couldn't quite figure out why.

"I've had a lot of practice," I reminded him. "People have been trying to shoot me down my whole life."

"Yeah, but you've never nipped their protests in the bud quite like that," he said. "Maybe I should have sent you up here to rein Hugh in instead of Hawk."

"Given that you sent Hawk up here a number of years before we met, I think you can see how illogical that suggestion is."

He nodded, locking his gaze on mine in that way he has of holding me captive without laying a single finger on my physical person. It was disarming; always had been. But for the first time, I didn't feel the rush of heat that usually accompanied it. There was no flood of desire. It was just a man, looking deep into a friend's soul. "I'd like you and Harry to join me for lunch on the seventh floor," he said.

* * *

 _ **Until next time, I hope you all live life to the fullest.**_


	65. Chapter 65

_I should be working on other things, so obviously, I'm using writing as a form of procrastination. Good for story updates, bad for my productivity, but oddly, I'm okay with the trade off._

 **Chapter 65**

My heart was pounding the entire way down the stairs to the lab. I'd somehow managed to remain calm and somewhat in control as I'd assured Ranger that I would see if Harry was free for lunch, but the second he turned his back to head back towards Hugh's office, I was in full panic mode. Was this really just a friendly meal? Did Ranger have an ulterior motive? Even if he didn't, this lunch was bound to be awkward. Ranger and I had history. Years of it. And a fair portion of it was rather intimate. Harry and I, on the other hand, were still figuring our relationship out. We'd confessed our feelings just three days ago. We were so fresh that we still had that new car smell. It was pleasant, a nice feel, but like a new car, we were overly cautious about how we interacted, unwilling to dent or scratch it so soon after driving it off the showroom floor.

I paused outside the lab, sucking in oxygen so unreliably that I thought I was in danger of falling into a dead faint if I kept it up. "It's just lunch," I murmured under my breath, shaking out my hands as I began to pace. "How bad could it be? Just lunch between your ex-lover and your brand-spanking-new boyfriend. Nothing awkward or terrifying about that."

A door clicked at the end of the hall, grabbing my attention. "I made a conscious decision to announce my presence by closing the door louder than usual," Stitch explained when our gazes met. "You look like you're deep in some heavy contemplations, and God knows you're not attentive to your surroundings when you're focused on them. I didn't want to be the cause of yet another scare-induced fall for you. I'm supposed to be looking after your health, not damaging it."

I could hear him talking. The words were definitely entering my ears, but my brain was still buzzing with the lunch dilemma, making me a little slow to comprehend what he was saying. "Hi," I said after several long, silent moments. I knew it was stupid. Quite possibly one of the most idiotic things I'd ever allowed to pass my lips, but that was the state I was in. I was pretty sure I was better off just feigning fatigue and locking myself in my apartment, and I might have contemplated that option a little more, if it weren't for the fact that these men were security experts and could force entry to the apartment with very little effort if given due cause. And something told me that if I became a hermit, that would be considered due cause.

"Hi yourself," Stitch replied easily, chuckling lightly as he strolled down the hall. He was calm as ever, hiking a messenger bag further up on his shoulder, but that teeny tiny section of my brain that was still processing information in a straightforward manner noted the furrow to his brow. "Is everything all right?"

"Just peachy," I assured him automatically.

He raised an eyebrow. "You always pace outside the lab muttering to yourself?"

"Only when-" I caught myself before I blurted out something I'd regret. Shaking my head, I glanced towards the tech lab door. "Never mind," I muttered.

"Okay," he said slowly. "So what are you trying to convince yourself is neither awkward or terrifying?" My expression must have portrayed the shock I felt, because Stitch took a single step forward, holding out his hands in that universal placating gesture I'd seen far to often in my life. "I just caught the last little bit. I swear."

There wasn't really all that much I could do to deny it. I knew that I was thinking out loud. And the possibility of Stitch being able to hear exactly what I was saying in the otherwise silent, and echoing hall, was high. But rather than answer, I took a deep breath, stepped backwards and leaned by back against the wall, letting the breath out on a slow sigh. "It's complicated," I said.

Stitch narrowed his eyes. "It always is with you, isn't it?"

"It seems to be the norm," I agreed.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat about it, but I have a meeting with Hawk and then I have to go play chauffer to the parents so we can all go see Kate get an award on assembly." He tipped an imaginary hat and continued down the hall towards the stairwell. "Follow your gut," he called back over his shoulder as he pulled open the door. "From what I've heard and experienced, it rarely leads you astray." And with that he disappeared.

"You just gotta bite the bullet and do it," I told myself, once more out loud.

"Do what?"

After all the effort that Stitch put in to not startling me into landing on my ass again, Harry damn near made it all come undone as he appeared in the doorway in front of me. "Jeez, Harry," I breathed, clutching my chest. "You wanna warn a girl?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at me. "Honestly, I thought you'd gotten better at this, but I'm more than willing to redistribute the clothespins in the bottom drawer of your desk, if you're having a relapse." He was joking, the grin a dead give away as he crossed the hall and took up a similar position leaning against the wall beside me. "So which bullet are we biting? Please tell me it's not coming out of a smoking gun."

"That remains to be seen," I sighed. I couldn't imagine Ranger was going to pepper the lunch he'd invited us to with probing questions after being so supportive and encouraging back in Trenton. The problem was, Ranger and I had history and I couldn't help but think of how awkward this meal was bound to be. Once upon a time, a lunch like this would have lead to my clothes falling off and Ranger's hands all over me. I doubted very much that that would happen with Harry present, especially given our new relationship status. But it didn't stop my heart from pounding in my chest at the thought of having both men in the same room. Was Ranger planning something? Was his supportiveness merely an act? Was he-

"Steph?" Harry asked quietly, bumping his shoulder against mine. "You gonna tell me what's up, or do I need to start guessing?" The pause where I assumed I was supposed to reveal the reason for my mood, was barely long enough for me to draw in a breath before he was speaking again. "How was your meeting with Hugh? Did he tear you a new one? Do I need to go defend your honour? Just let me do some warm-up stretches first, I'm a little stiff this morning, but I'll take him."

I couldn't help but snort at the renewed thought of Harry holding his own against Hugh. It would be a tough match, but there was a possibility that he'd come out on top. As the image in my head warped into Ranger versus Harry, though, the bottom dropped out of my stomach and I felt suddenly sick.

Harry, who had been recapping his outrageously comedic fighting style, paused in front of me, his brows drawing together in concern as he reached out for my shoulders. "Woah," he uttered. "I've never seen anyone go as green as you did just now. Don't worry, I'm not actually going to fight Hugh. I may give him an earful if he's decided to send you away, though."

"It's not that," I said. "I-"

"Is your headache back?" Harry questioned, glancing toward Stitch's office at the end of the hall. "Should I go get Stitch?"

"No," I assured him, shaking my head for emphasis. "I'm fine, it's just…. When I went upstairs for my meeting with Hugh, Ranger was there. He sat in on the meeting and afterwards he-"

Harry's face dropped, all the light that shone so brightly there being swallowed up by a darkness that was heart-wrenching. "I see," he said quietly, turning away from me. Before he could take a single step, though, I found my feet, pushing aside all my thoughts of awkwardness in the face of Harry's apparent assumption of rejection.

"Harry, wait," I demanded, stepping in front of him and grabbing his hands. "I-" He wasn't looking at me, staring steadily off to the side. Reaching up, I gently cupped his cheek and urged his gaze to meet mine. "Ranger invited us both to lunch," I said. "That's all. My nervousness is because I don't know how to act around him with our history, and with our new relationship status. I was contemplating feigning sickness and skipping it entirely, but then I realised that I was done with hiding from things, so I needed to bit the bullet and tell you that we're going to lunch with Ranger on the seventh floor." I paused. "If you're free, of course."

Harry blinked. "Lunch with you?" he asked.

"And Ranger," I reminded him.

"But you'll be there?"

"Yes."

"Why would I turn down that opportunity?" he asked, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me closer. His dark mood of a moment ago was completely obliterated. "And I've never been to the penthouse apartment before. It's supposed to be pretty swish. I'm excited."

I blinked at him. "You're not worried about meeting Ranger?"

"Why would I be?" he questioned. "You said he was the one that made you realise you liked me. You said he encouraged you to take the leap and tell me how you feel. Sounds like he's a potential shipper. Is there something I _should_ be worried about?"

I shook my head and shrugged, wrapping my own arms tighter around Harry. Standing there like that, it was like he'd built a force field to keep all my worries at bay. "Probably not," I said into his shoulder. "I'm just nervous because of our history, and we're still defining our relationship, so I don't know how to-"

"It'll be fine," Harry assured me.

*0*

An hour later we were up on the seventh floor, waiting in the foyer. We'd rung the bell about a minute ago, and the delay in entrance was setting off my nerves again. Not only was it taking an inordinate amount of time for Ranger to answer the door, but the long he took, the more I was inclined to run with the idea of feigning illness, just to get out of this. Maybe I could just leave Harry and Ranger to have lunch together without me?

As if he sensed my thoughts, Harry's hand reached out and wrapped around mine, squeezing tightly for a second before a second before relaxing again. "It'll be fine," Harry reminded me.

"He doesn't usually take this long," I explained.

"Maybe he's decided to save us all the awkwardness and cancel," he suggested. "Maybe he got a call and he's currently on his way back to DC to be briefed for a new mission."

"I doubt the government would be that cruel," I pointed out, leaning on his arm. "He only got back from the last one four days ago. He needs time to recover."

Before Harry could reply, the stairwell door opened behind us, admitting Ranger into he space. "Sorry I'm late," Ranger said by way of greeting. "I had to take a call."

Harry shot me a meaningful look, but I just jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow. There were different kinds of calls. It wasn't going to be the government every single time. And besides, there was no way our silent communication had gone unnoticed by Ranger. Probably, he was reading our minds right now.

"No worries," I said. "The amount of times I've kept you waiting, a little pay back is more than fair."

Ranger nodded, his eyes sliding sideways to meet Harry's, extending his hand rather formally. "You must be Harry," he said.

"Like you haven't already read an entire file on him," I said with what I hoped was a good-natured eye roll. I couldn't believe that Ranger would invite us to spend time with him in his private apartment without doing his research. Ranger liked to know everything about everyone at all times. He didn't like to be left guessing.

"You always could see straight through me," Ranger conceded, finishing his handshake and stepping back to address the man. "I've read your file. Your progress here at Rangeman is impressive, given your background. I admit the search I did was nowhere as complete as Steph could have done, but I get by."

"I'm honoured that you took the time to spend on a lowly tech guy like me, sir," Harry said. "And a little relieved that you didn't have Steph at your disposal for that search. I've seen her in action. She could find out the name of the pet goldfish you had when you were three if she had due cause."

"Please," Ranger said, his lips twitching in a small smile. "Call me Ranger." Harry merely nodded. Ranger, appearing satisfied, moved to unlock the apartment door and ushered us through to the dining room where someone had set out a number of platters and three place settings.

The apartment was both familiar, and unsettlingly foreign. It looked almost exactly like Ranger's apartment in Trenton. The same furnishings and masculine vibe, but there was something about it that screamed that this was not Ranger's space. There was something missing. The personal touch, that lived in feel, the very essence of Ranger. That Bulgari scent. And thankfully, that lack of overwhelming _Ranger_ coming from all sides put me at ease. It felt more like a level playing field than if we'd been in his domain back in Trenton.

Ranger moved to the side of the table, taking a seat there, and leaving the place setting at the head of the table vacant. I was pretty sure this was a deliberate move to take himself out of the power position and attempt to put Harry and I more at ease. It didn't fool me, Ranger was always in control of every situation he was a part of, whether it appeared that way or not.

Harry took the seat opposite Ranger, leaving me to take up the space between them. The symbolism was not lost on me, but I refrained from commenting aloud as I took my seat between them. As soon as we were all settled and I took note of the silence that had fallen over our small group, I realised that commenting on the fact that I was sat between them might have been the better move, because now it was awkward. I glanced at Harry, who was looking around the dining room, taking in his surroundings in a very obvious manner, then to Ranger, holding himself still as he assessed his lunch companions. I knew he was looking at me, and Harry, but I made no secret of the fact that I was looking back at him.

"You're looking better than you were on Friday," I pointed out, breaking the silence. "You've clearly gotten some sleep; you don't look as drawn."

"Routine helps," Ranger said succinctly.

More silence followed his statement, grating at my nerves. He wasn't usually like this. Not with me, not in private. I'd seen him converse at length about his niece's birthday party. But here and now? It's like we'd hopped in a time machine and he was back to his short-as-possible answers. To fill the quiet, I turned to Harry and explained, "Ranger just returned home from a secret government mission on Friday. He was gone for a few months, and I'm fairly certain he didn't sleep at all while he was away, based on how haggard he looked when he turned up at the hospital in Trenton."

Harry nodded, but the brief furrow of his brow reminded me that he had already heard about it. We'd spoken at length about the happenings of Thursday night and Friday morning when I'd absconded to Trenton. I'd spared no details when explaining how I'd come to the realisation that I like him and wanted to give a relationship a chance. Thankfully, rather than call me out, Harry just shifted his hand to my knee under the table, squeezing reassuringly.

I took a deep breath and turned my attention to the platters on the table. "Lunch looks good," I said, feigning brightness as I reached for the nearest dish and spooning some of the rice salad onto my plate. Fake it till you make it, right? "I'm looking forward to tasting it all."

"Ella made it," Ranger explained. Again, using only as many words as was necessary to convey his message. Really, if he could have gotten away with simply saying _'Ella'_ I'm sure he would have.

"Ella?" Harry enquired. Maybe he realised that Ranger wasn't giving me much to build a normal conversation about. Maybe I'd never told him about Ella. Either way, I was instantly grateful for the participation he was showing. I couldn't carry us all through this lunch. I was a regular motor mouth at times, sure, but even I had my limitations. "Who's Ella?"

"Ella is the housekeeper at the Trenton office," I informed him. "She's the greatest cook in the universe, but don't tell my mother. I've never tasted anything as good as Ella's chocolate brownies." At the reminder of the absolute decadence that was the slightly healthy brownies, I eyed the food on the table some more. "Ella always indulges my sweet tooth when she knows she's cooking for me, but I don't see-"

"In the fridge, Babe."

There was no stopping the grin that spread across my face at those words. "She always comes through," I enthused, wriggling in my seat in a sort of restricted happy dance. "We should dig in. I overslept this morning and only had time to grab an apple before heading down to check in with Stitch. If I don't eat soon we'll all be hearing about it."

Both Harry and Ranger made slightly amused grunts, and started dishing food onto their plates as well. Another silence fell over the table, but I wasn't so bothered by it this time, because the food Ella had sent up with Ranger was divine. I'd eaten a lot of good food in the last few months, but none of it could possibly hold a candle to what I was currently consuming. It certainly beat my own attempts at cooking.

When I'd finished most of my food and just picking at the dregs of the salad I'd felt obligated to take, I tried once more to engage Ranger in conversation. For a man who had made a penis joke in front of the men downstairs, he was being awfully tight-lipped and restricted. "How are the guys?" I asked.

"Good," he replied, true to form.

Rather than try to pretend it was fine, and fill the silence, this time, I just stared at him. Expectant. This wasn't the Ranger I knew, and if he was going to revert to this kind of lack of communication I was inclined to walk out right now. But that wasn't how friends react. As much as this was awkward for Harry and me, I had to remember that it was awkward for Ranger, too. When he left on his mission we weren't in a relationship, but if things had progressed without interruption, I have very little doubt that I would have eventually ended up in his bed. It might not have been the relationship I envision for my life, but I had very little defences when faced with a doomsday orgasm.

Then, he's back in town for two seconds and finds me in meltdown over another guy. He encouraged me to follow my heart and that took courage I'm not sure I would have been able to pull together if the tables had been turned. He was mature enough to recognise the difference between what he could give me and what I needed was probably too big a gap for us to fill with compromise, and he hadn't hesitated to support whatever decision I made on that front. But he was still trying to adjust, to reconcile his past with his present. And if I didn't show the same kind of support he'd shown me, I was being a really shitty friend.

He just needed a bit of encouragement to find his feet again. And I was no stranger to putting the pressure on him to verbalise when he needed a kick in the pants.

Ranger met my gaze and held it steadily for several seconds, before letting out the tiniest sigh I'd ever witnessed. "If you must know, they tried to convince me not to come," he said quietly, laying down his cutlery.

That was unexpected. For a second or two, all I could do was stare at him with growing confusion as my mind projected a series of scenarios that would lead to the Merry Men telling Ranger not to visit Boston and, by extension, me. Finally, I managed to get a message from my brain to my mouth and was able to utter a simple, "Why?"

"A number of reasons," Ranger said. "None that made sense given their previous conversations."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What do you mean?" I demanded. "What conversations?"

Ranger's eyes flicked to Harry but trained back on me almost before I could notice the look.

"Tell me, Ranger," I urged. "My relationship with Harry is no reason to start all this silent tough guy stuff. A long time ago, you told me you'd be as open with me as your were able to be, but this isn't that guy. Now, what were the guys talking about? And why did it not make sense up against the protests?"

"They were complaining about how you hadn't gotten in contact to let them know how you and Harry got on," he explained, speaking evenly. I was pretty sure he didn't like that I'd called him out in front of Harry, but I wasn't about to let him slip out the back door like he was trying to do after inviting us to lunch. He wanted us here, to see how we interacted in the same space, he was going to have to keep up appearances. "Then when I announced this morning that I would be flying out to check in with the other branches, they changed their tune."

"How so?"

"I believe their exact words were along the lines of _'No. You can't. You need to give her space. You urged her to follow her heart, you can't go up there and make things more complicated when she's just starting out. You have to respect her journey.'_ And then they started talking over each other trying to convince me not to come."

"You always did like to ignore others' opinions, didn't you?"

Ranger leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Contrary to the beliefs of you and half the company," he said quietly. "I did not come up here because I changed my mind about what you should do. I came to check how my company has been running in my absence, and, because I value your friendship, to share a few moments with you. I invited you and Harry to lunch as a show of support. I apologise if I've made things awkward, or complicated, or given either of you the wrong idea."

Now it was my turn to sigh. He was just trying to be supportive, and here I was giving him the third degree. "Thank you," I said, reaching across the table to lay a hand on his forearm. "I'm sorry I snapped at you; I just hate when you pull the one-word answer thing. I thought we'd left that behind, so it really frustrates me when you go all sullen and tight-lipped."

"To be fair," Harry spoke up for the first time. "Only one of his answers were one word."

* * *

 _ **See you all next chapter. Hopefully, it won't be**_ **too** _ **long.**_


	66. Chapter 66

_It's been a crazy couple of months with back to back shows and tensions at work putting me in a mood, but I have (Finally) finished the next chapter for you! It feels good to finally have time to write again!_

 **Chapter 66**

I stared out at the sea of faces before me, some staring straight back at me, some with their eyes trained on their tablets, busily taking notes (or playing mine sweeper for all I knew), others whispering to each other. Was that a good sign? I had no idea. I'd never had to do anything quite like this before. Sure, I'd have to give oral presentations in school, but there was a clear purpose to those, and someone at the back of the room grading it against a very specific set of criteria. I didn't necessarily have that today, but I was pretty sure I was being judged. Had I met their expectations? Had I spoken too fast? Had I clearly communicated all the pertinent information? I waited another few seconds, casting my gaze over the crowd in the large conference room.

"Any questions?" I asked. No reaction. The men continued staring, and note taking (or game playing), and whispering, but no one raised a hand, or spoke out their thoughts or queries. I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the lump that had been forming ever since I'd risen from my seat to do my part. "Thank you for your time this morning. I trust everyone will take these new procedures in their stride and record any feedback or comments on the review form you'll be emailed in about a week. In the meantime, if you do have any questions please don't hesitate to approach either myself, Bronson, Mungo or Barrel."

Thankfully, the men began a polite round of applause, meaning I wasn't left with a dead silence while I made my way back to my seat at the back. I slumped down next to Harry just as Hugh resumed the podium. "You did great," he whispered, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close.

"Did I?" I countered, holding up my hands to show him how badly they were shaking. "I almost dropped my notes."

"Nobody noticed," he assured me, squeezing a little harder and dropping a kiss to the top of my head. "So you were nervous, whatever. Better you up there explaining it all than Lock. Last time he had to give a report at the weekly meeting we could barely understand him between the mumbling and the umming. Eventually Shock took pity on him and grabbed the note cards he'd prepared, reading straight off of them."

"He must have felt terrible," I pointed out, letting myself relax a little more into Harry's side now that I didn't have the weight of my presentation winding all the tension in my body. Three months of meetings and planning and logistical debates, had finally come to fruition. Our new strategy for making Rangeman Boston more personable and street friendly while remaining safe, was on the table to be trialled.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "We found out later that Lock had a pretty terrible speech impediment as a kid and was still haunted by some pretty traumatic school assignments."

Hugh must have ended the meeting and dismissed us all while we were talking, because suddenly everyone was out of their chairs, packing up their papers or tablets and heading for the doors. Harry unwound his arm from my shoulders long enough for us both to gather our belongings and stand, as we started toward the door, though, he drew me close once more so that we were touching from shoulder to knee.

I'd been a bundle of nerves all week preparing for this morning's presentation and now that it was over, I needed an outlet for all my left over energies. I could barely hold still as we crammed into the elevator with about ten other men. It was only Harry's arm dragging me closer to make room for one more person in the tiny box that calmed the fidgeting, but as soon as he'd released me as we made our way down the hall to the tech lab, the energy was coursing through me again, so much so that I was actually thinking about heading down to the gym to work it out of my system.

Until, that is, we entered the lab and Harry closed the door behind us. I had enough time to set my laptop down on the nearest bench before I felt his body pressed up behind mine, his soft lips trailing down the side of my neck to the edge of my v-neck. Caught entirely off guard, all I managed to do was let out a soft moan as the residual adrenaline I'd been battling converted into a different kind of energy: A heat. A hunger. I relaxed back into him as his hands snuck under the hem of my shirt, one snaking up to stroke my breasts through the bra, the other resting comfortably on my stomach, adding to the heat.

Taking advantage of my pliable form, he spun me around, lifting me up onto the bench. I barely had a second to react before he was between my knees, capturing my lips with his own. Another moan escaped me as I gripped his shoulders, willing myself to stay upright. Harry had revealed very early on that he was saving himself for marriage, an admirable endeavour in this day and age, and I'd been respecting his decisions, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't hell on my jelly donut hormones. Sure he was a great kisser, and we'd fooled around a bit, but my Hungarian blood yearned for more. Every second he was near me felt like a teaser reel for a movie you just knew was going to be epic. You keep watching it, searching for the satisfaction you know the real thing will surely bring, but it's just out of reach.

It had been almost ten months since my last _really_ cooperative orgasm, and I was starting to go stir crazy. Don't get me wrong, Harry had driven me over the edge more times than I could count, but his insistence on remaining pure until marriage meant that he couldn't give me everything I needed. We'd gotten quite creative in the last month since we'd decided to take the relationship to the next level, but it was a good, hard-

"Fuck," Harry hissed, interrupting my stream of thoughts as he lowered his head to my shoulder.

"What?" I gasped, out of breath before we'd even begun anything.

"I just stubbed my toe on the table leg," he explained, glancing up at me through that adorable tuft of blonde hair that always stuck out the front of his hat. "Give me a second to get the pain under control and I'll be right back with you."

I let out a breathy chuckle but did not deign to give him the second of reprieve he'd requested. I'd been on the edge of something fantastic, and he was not going to leave me hanging to my sanity by a thread. Grasping the back of his head, I tipped his head back to and took up where he'd left off, covering his lips with my own and teasing the seam where they met with my tongue until it was his turn to let out a moan.

That was all the recovery time he needed, it seemed, because his hands were everywhere, all at once. On my breasts, my asss, tangled in my hair. And it seemed that wherever they went, his lips followed. Everywhere, of course, but where I needed him most. I shifted my weight, attempting to wriggle out of my jeans, even as I clung to his shoulders, gasping for breath.

"Please," I moaned as he pressed himself deeper between my thighs, hindering what little progress I'd made in removing my pants.

"What lovely manners," he replied, grinning and catching my bottom lip between his teeth. "If only I knew what it was that triggered such-" he interrupted his own sentence with a grunt and thrust, causing me to cry out in desperation and almost miss his final word. "Politeness."

"Oh, God," I breathed, giving up on my own pants in favour of working on his instead. My fumbling fingers were latched onto his belt as they attempted to work the buckle, but it was no use, between the hormones already surging through my body, the feel of his manhood straining to get free under my fingers and the delightful things he was doing with his tongue just below my ear, I didn't have enough functioning braincells left to breath properly, let alone unfasten the blasted buckle.

"I'm not often prayed to," he chuckled, brushing away my fingers and shifting my legs so that they were wrapped around his waist, his belt woefully out of reach. "But I think I could get used to it. How does it go again?" He punctuated his question with another thrust of his hips.

"God!" I cried. "Oh fuck. Fucking God!" If he wasn't careful, I was going to come before he ever touched me.

"Yes, you are," he agreed, leaning down to trail his tongue along the lace of my bra – when had we removed my shirt? "You _are_ fucking God."

Somehow, I found the presence of mind to wrench his head away. "No, I'm not," I panted, meeting his cool gaze. "I'm not fucking God." Slowly the coolness began to fade from his expression, a worried crease settling between his brow. I didn't let it go too far before clarifying, "I'm fucking-well dry humping god. There're too many clothes between us. Please!"

"Yes," a voice agreed from the doorway, stealing my attention. "Please!"

"Lester!" the name left my lips on a gasp that was entirely different to the kind I had been doing a moment ago. "What are you- When did- I'm not- Where's my-oof!" As I fumbled for a complete sentence, Harry was fumbling for my discarded shirt, unceremoniously dragging it over my head mid-word.

"We can come back later if now's a bad time," Bobby said. His words said he was being a gentleman, the grin on his face said otherwise.

"No," I assured them, stuffing my arms into sleeves as Harry seemed to slowly melt onto one of the stools at the bench, his face hidden behind his hands. "Now is… What are you doing here?"

"Interrupting a session of heavy petting," Lester grinned, stepping further into the room.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, grabbing at any tried and tested defence mechanism I could to regain some composure. "I doubt you flew all the way to Boston just to interrupt Harry and I, uh… Harry and I…"

"I believe correct grammar is ' _Harry and me',_ " Bobby explained helpfully.

"Harry and Steph, actually," Lester said with a frown. "You weren't involved at all."

They both chortled over their grammar puns, and I seized the opportunity to take a deep breath and slide off the bench. Nothing like surprise visitors to put out the fire of desire. "What I meant was, why are you in Boston?"

Bobby glanced at Lester with a much sweeter smile than the sly dog grins they'd aimed at me, his eyes softening. "We are in Boston today, dear Stephanie, because we have finally extracted phalange from orifice and started organising our wedding. We're sending out save the dates next week, but we were thinking about the bridal party-"

"And if it's still called a bridal party with two grooms," Lester inserted.

"And realised," Bobby continued, ignoring Lester's comment. "That we couldn't celebrate our union without one of our best friends at our side. So, we wanted to ask you," he met eyes with Lester and they said the next in perfect unison. "Stephanie will you be our Best Man?"

"-Maid of Honour?" Well, almost perfect unison. They glanced at each other, eyebrows twitching up and down as they silently argued over the wording. Finally, they turned back to me, blank faces almost in place. "We're still confused about whether we need - or get to have – both," Lester explained.

"You want me to be your-"

"Maid of Honour," Bobby finished for me, at the same time his fiancé said, "Best Man."

"Whatever you wanna call it," I smiled, closing the distance between us. "I'd be honoured."

"Great!" Lester enthused, pulling me into one of his signature bearhugs.

"We'll let you know if you have to wear a tux or a dress," Bobby added, deftly extracting my body from his partner's arms so that he could thank me in hug form himself.

Harry, having apparently recovered from the embarrassment of being caught in the act, chuckled from his position at the lab bench. "Por qué no los dos?" he asked the men, prompting a wave a laughter from all sides. My Spanish wasn't good, but I was pretty sure he was suggesting I wear both a tux _and_ a dress to the wedding… That didn't exactly sound like the most appealing outfit.

* * *

 _ **Have a great weekend, everyone! I'll see you next chapter! (Whenever that is...)**_


	67. Chapter 67

_I decided to do something a little different today and write from Harry's POV. You're welcome._

 **Chapter 67**

Harry's POV

"Please," Steph moaned as I inched closer, spreading her knees wider so that there was no way she could get her jeans off. I knew she was desperate. Her advances had become a little more demanding of late, stretching the limits I was willing to go to. She respectful of my vow to wait until marriage, of course. Sceptical, and confused, but respectful. But each time we came together I found myself giving a little more of myself over to her. I knew, though, that given the state she'd been in lately, and the fact that her creativity of work-arounds was endearing me even more, I could be more easily persuaded to drop my walls and throw away my vow.

"What lovely manners," I praised, catching her bottom lip between my teeth and _biting_ down enough for her let out one of those gasps that always drove me wild. "If only I knew what it was that triggered such-" I paused, thrusting forward as she wriggled a little to work at her pants again. Her efforts halted on an almost pained-sounding cry, but I didn't let it stop me from finishing my sentence, "Politeness."

"Oh, God," she breathed abandoning her own pants in favour of sneaking her hands between our bodies to fondle my belt buckle. Her fingers brushed clumsily over my zipper and I fought the urge to press even further between her thighs. If I didn't want to embarrass myself, I needed to avert her attention.

Leaning down, I laved the special spot under her ear that seemed to disconnect her limbs from her brain. "I'm not often prayed to," I murmured against her skin, brushing her hands away from my belt and hooking her legs around my waist in one swift movement. Her groan of disappointment quickly changed to one of ecstasy as I punctuated my next statement with another thrust of my hips. "But I think I could get used to it. How does it go again?"

"God!" she cried. "Oh fuck. Fucking God!"

I could tell she was close by the pitch of her voice and the way were thighs squeezed me in a futile attempt to get the one thing I wouldn't give her. Allowing a laugh to vibrate silently, in my chest, I dragged her shirt over her head. "Yes, you are," I agreed as I traced her bra with my tongue. "You _are_ fucking God."

Her hands delved into my hair, dislodging my hat, but interestingly, rather than drawing my face closer to her breast, she tugged it away, meeting my gaze with a fiery passion. "No, I'm not," she panted, eyes narrowing slightly, causing a sliver of my confidence to slip away. "I'm not fucking God."

 _Oh shit,_ I thought. _What did I do wrong? Has she finally changed her mind about me? Was this the last straw?_

"I'm fucking-well dry humping God," she added, running her hands over my chest before hooking them into my belt again. "There's too many clothes between us. Please!"

I was almost tempted to comply with her request, until a drawling voice behind me agreed, "Yes. Please!" And just like that, the mood was gone.

"Lester!" Steph gasped, stiffening in my arm. Definitely not the name I wanted her to be yelling in the midst of a passionate moment, but at least it identified who had let themselves into the lab. I really should have made sure to lock the door, but it was too late for that now. The best I could do was save as much of Steph's dignity as I could, and that meant getting her shirt back on ASAP. "What are you-" she stammered as I spotted the pile of black fabric on the counter behind her. "When did – I'm not- Where's my- OOF!" Having righted her shirt, I slipped it over her head without warning, disabling her panic attack.

"We can come back later if now's a bad time," another voice said. My entire body tightened at the realisation that there was a second spectator. I don't know what I'd been thinking when I started this. I should have known that privacy was a myth in the office. Not even in the lab, where no one but me ever ventured and the security camera was busted. And now I was caught with nowhere to escape to because they were blocking the only exit. And my hat!

My hat was somewhere on the floor behind me. I'd have to turn around to find it. And turning around meant revealing my face, which I could already tell was beet red, to our visitors. Potentially meeting eyes with them. Without my hat. I couldn't do it. I didn't even relish the idea of them staring at the back of my head without my hat on.

While Steph continued to talk to the men, like nothing was wrong, I slid onto the nearest lab stool covering my face with my hands as I tried to make myself as small as possible. Maybe if I held my hands tight enough over my face I'd run out of oxygen and pass out. That'd diffuse the situation. Of course, it would also open me up to a world of ridicule. _Did you hear? Harry was caught making out with Steph in the lab and then he fainted._ No thanks. I'd just have to man up and find an opportunity to slither down to the ground without anyone noticing to retrieve my security blanket.

"And realised," the second voice was saying when I tuned back in, trying to gauge their attention. Steph had hopped off the table a few moments ago and moved closer to the men, but that didn't mean it was safe to embark on my rescue mission. "that we couldn't celebrate our union without one of our best friends at our side. So, we wanted to ask you," there was a pause and then Lester joined in, speaking in unison with the man I was beginning to think was his fiancé, Bobby Brown. "Will you be our Best Man?"

"-Maid of Honour?"

I glanced over my shoulder at the unison discrepancy. All their attention was focused within the little triangle they had formed by the door. Now was the perfect time, especially as they proceeded to debate whether they got a maid of honour or a best man. I slid off the stool unnoticed, snatched up my hat, placing it lovingly back in its rightful place, and took a slow breath as I stood.

"We'll let you know if you have to wear a tux or a dress," Bobby was saying, pulling Steph into a hug. She must have agreed to be their Maid of Best Honour Man.

A chuckle escaped me at the thought of the combined title. "Por qué no los dos?" I asked, crossing to join their group. The men expressed their pleasure with the idea through laughter, but Steph looked confused. "Why not have both?" I translated for her as she slipped out of Bobby's arms and under mine. "Hell, you could create your own title."

"I like the way you think," Bobby nodded. "Best Maid."

"Man of Honour," Lester added.

Bobby's eyes lit up. "Best honour!"

Lester had the look of a bullied, preteen nerd who had just discovered superhero comics as he exclaimed, "Maid Man!"

" _Man Maid,"_ Steph corrected, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm a woman after all."

The men stopped their excited movements, turning befuddled gazes her way, Lester even tilted his head to the side like a puppy. "You are?" he asked.

"That explains the boobs," Bobby said with an exaggerated frat-boy slap to Lester's shoulder.

And just like that, they were all hugging again. It was interesting watching Steph with these men. I knew she was close with them, and I'd listened to her phone conversations, but it was another thing to see how comfortable they were together, how easily they fit together. Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place. It was a wonder Steph had survived up here without them, especially considering the first few weeks. Steph was more at ease now that I had seen her in all the months I'd known her. They really were her family by choice.

Glancing up over Steph's shoulder, Bobby extracted himself from the group hug and extended a hand to me. "You must be Harry," he said.

I accepted the hand with a nod. "You must be Bobby," I replied.

"The one and only," Lester assured me. "Now, hanging out in The Hattery is fun and all, but what's say we take this someplace I can order a cheeseburger? Lunch anyone?"

"Sound's good to me," I said. If I was going to be in Steph's life, I needed to get to know the people she cared about. Plus, I'd skipped breakfast in my rush to get out the door and over to Steph's apartment so she didn't psych herself out. I was _hungry_.

"I could eat," Bobby shrugged.

Steph's stomach dwelling monster growled an agreement, but she was frowning at her phone. "I'm supposed to be meeting Reese for lunch," she explained, glancing up at us all. "I'd cancel, but we've already postponed three times."

Bizarrely, Lester's grin seemed to grow. "Even better," he announced. "You go have your girl lunch, braid each other's hair or whatever, and Bobby and I will take Harry and interrogate, I mean, get to know him better." A glare from Steph was all it took for Lester to raise his hands in surrender. "I'll be good," he said. "I promise! Beside, I got to know Harry reasonable well while you were unconscious in his bed after that fucked up distraction. We're cool. It's this guy you should be worried about." He hiked a thumb at Bobby, who made an indignant noise.

Steph sighed. "Okay," she relented. "Have your guys' lunch. But just know that if you damage Harry in anyway I will have Tank meet you on the mats as soon as you get back to Trenton."

There was silence as she let that threat sink in, but the effect was lost when Bobby pointed at his shoulder and explained, "I actually haven't been fully cleared yet, sooooo…"

"Then I'll find a different way to make you suffer," Steph assured him.

Even though the threat wasn't aimed at me, it sent chills down my spine. There was a knowledge somewhere in my chest that she could absolutely deliver on that threat and it would be terrifying if/when she did. I made a mental note never to cross her, not that I had been planning to, and vowed to redouble my efforts to stay on her good side.

*o*

We took my SUV, which made for an interesting ride. Bobby spent the entire drive asking me about my hats. Nothing probing, because he pointed out that I use them as a social confidence aid. Just the curiosity questions I have no problems answering, like, _how many do you have? How do you store them? Do you have favourites that you wear more often than others? How often do you clean them? Did you buy all of them?_ By the time I pulled into the parking lot behind Suzan's Diner he had learned that they all had names and they were both determinedly trying to guess the name of the baseball cap I wore.

"Joey," Lester tried.

"Bertha," Bobby suggested.

"Kinglesy."

"Arnold."

"Fred."

"George."

"Julia."

"Gertrude."

The list continued as we exited the vehicle and walked the short distance to the entrance and didn't stop once we'd claimed a booth in the back. They both chose to sit with their backs to the walls, as was the Trenton custom, while I slid in across from them, signaling to Sue for a jug of water.

"Jimmy."

"Frank."

"A hat named Frank would be a bit weird for Steph, don't you think?" Lester pointed out. "That's her dad's name."

Bobby gave Lester a deadpan look. "Steph's ex has a dog with basically the same name as me," he said. "I think she'd manage."

"Chester," I sighed, willing to do anything to put an end to the list of names streaming from their mouths. I was just thankful they hadn't gone on so long that they started on the redneck names. "The hat's name is Chester."

Bobby seemed satisfied with that answer, having picked up a menu to start perusing, but Lester, typically, had to take it that extra step further. "Does it have a last name?" he asked.

"No."

"Fantastic," he said, leaning his elbows on the table and spearing me with a stare so piercing it felt like he was reading everything written on my soul. "Now that that's out of the way, it's time to get down to business. What are your intentions with our daughter?"

I'd been prepared for this kind of question. It was no surprise they wanted to make sure I wouldn't hurt their friend. Everything Steph had told me about the Core Trenton team spoke volumes of how protective they were of her. They considered her their- _wait, did he just say 'daughter'?_

"Daughter?"

"He means sister," Bobby explained. "We talked about how we wanted this conversation to go on the flight and Lester was adamant that he wanted to channel that _What-are-your-intentions-with-my-daughter?_ trope vibe, all serious to see you squirm, and then crack a joke to let you relax. I told him he had to say sister, or it would be weird, but he clearly forgot."

"Dude you're killing the vibe," Lester complained, flopping back against the seat, every bit the picture of a disappointed child.

"You'll thank me when Harry doesn't hate us," Bobby intoned, raising a hand to caress his partner's cheek tenderly. It was cute how they could go from joking to loving in the blink of an eye. He then turned to me and took up the intimidating stance that Lester had just broken out of and I acknowledged that this particular blink of the eye transformation was definitely less cute than the previous. "Now what are your intentions with our sister?" he demanded.

"Uhhhh."

"Water for the table," Sue announced, placing a jug and three glasses down on the table, right in front of Bobby's narrowed eyes, diffusing the tense moment. She'd been around the Boston crew long enough to not be bothered by their shows of intimidation. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it, regardless of whether the men she was waiting on were having a growling match to decide who would foot the bill. "Are you ready to order?"

"The usual, thanks Sue," I requested

"The biggest cheeseburger you have on offer," Lester said, and upon seeing the look on Sue's face, added a hasty, "Please."

"Could I get an omelette?" Bobby asked.

Sue nodded, turned on her heels and walked away, leaving us to continue whatever stare down we'd been getting into prior to her arrival. We weren't her problem so long as we weren't causing a ruckus or disturbing the other customers. Probably she was over at the order window, rolling her eyes.

Lester looked to Bobby. Bobby looked to me. I tried splitting my gaze between the pair of them but ended up with a slight pain behind my eyes. The seconds ticked by. No one moving. No one speaking. Just reeling thoughts and narrowed eyes. Until finally, I'd found a combination of words that I thought would adequately answer the question they'd posed.

"Steph is a strong and capable woman," I began, ignoring their 'no duh,' expressions. "She's been hurt a lot in the past, so I understand your concern for her wellbeing, but you don't have to worry about that with me. I'd never do anything to harm Steph; physically, emotionally or psychologically. I'm not saying it's all gonna be peaches and roses, because it's not. No relationship of any worth is smooth sailing the whole time. That's how you know it's real. I plan on supporting Steph in whatever way she needs for as long as she'll allow me to."

Bobby nodded, taking a sip from the water he'd just poured. "That's gonna be forever," he said offhandedly.

"Sorry, what?" I asked.

Bobby shrugged. "Just a feeling."

I swallowed hard. God, I wanted it to be forever, but with the Steph's past, not to mention mine, I wouldn't be surprised if we ended in a spectacular ball of fire. "And what happens if it doesn't last that long?"

"Then I suggest you leave your curtains behind when you move," Lester said mildly. Whatever the fuck that meant.

* * *

 _I realised just now how very close to the end of this story we are. Like, don't blink or you'll miss it. It feels like two chapters and an epilogue at the moment._


	68. Chapter 68

_For the first time in a long time, I awoke with the urge to write and actually had the time to do so. As a result, here is the next chapter._

 **Chapter 68**

"Are you sure you can't stay longer?" Tank asked tucking me under his arm as he walked back to our table. "The party is just getting started!"

The party he was referring to was Lester and Bobby's wedding reception, which had been in full party mode for sevral hours. Dinner and toasts were beginning to feel like a distant memory, washed away by the open bar and thumping bass. Not to mention the grooms had mysteriously disappeared an hour ago and were yet to resurface. There was a betting pool at Cal's table on when, and if, they would be returning. I'd place my bet, drunk my drinks, danced my dances, and now I just wanted to go home.

And for the first time in my life, when I thought about home, I wasn't picturing Trenton, or my parents, or the Merry Men. I was picturing Harry. Which was ridiculous, because he was right beside me.

"I'd love to stay," I told Tank, hugging what I could reach of him. "But Harry has an appointment back in Boston tomorrow. We need to get back."

"You can stay a little longer, Steph," Harry suggested, skip-stepping to keep up as Tank guided me through the writhing crowd. "I'll drive back, and you can catch a flight in the morning."

I'm sure his suggestion was reasonable, but the thought of being apart from him, even for just a few hours, made me pout. "Or we could both go now, and I could keep you company on the drive home."

Harry and Tank both smiled down at me, like they'd shared a secret joke and were now laughing at me.

"What?" I demanded, dislodging Tank's arm so I could jab my fists onto my hips.

"I love you, Steph," Harry explained sincerely, "But you and I both know that as soon as the loud music and visual stimulation is gone, you're gonna crash. The only thing keeping me company on the way home will be your snores."

Tank nodded his agreement, like the traitor he was. They both had such little faith in my ability to stay awake. "And then you're going to wake up with a hang over in a moving vehicle," he added. "It's better if you sleep it off here."

"But I wanna be with Harry!" I whined, all by stamping my foot.

Harry, the blessed soul he was, took my face in his hands and sealed our lips together, quieting any arguments that might have been forming in my alcohol addle brain. The reasons for wanting to stay with Harry dissolved from conscious, communicable ideas, to a series of images, each more enticing than the next. They flashed through the front of my mind like one of those coin operated peep shows, making me sigh and wrap my arms around his neck. Just as I was really getting into the kiss, though, Harry pulled back, disengaging our lips, so that he could look into my eyes.

"And you will be with Harry," he assured me solemnly. "Tomorrow night, when you're back in Boston and my meeting is over."

"Technically," Tank butted in, "It would be _tonight_. It's already oh-three-hundred."

"Three hundred what?" I asked.

Harry chuckled and tipped my head down so that he could press a light kiss to my hairline. "Three o'clock in the morning, Steph," he explained. "And if I don't leave now, I won't get a nap in before my meeting and then Halfred will want me to do complex algebra or something, and I'm just not as smart when I haven't slept."

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" I asked, frowning up at him. "It's a long drive, and –"

"Steph," he said, cutting off my worry. "I had a nap this afternoon for this exact reason. Besides, if you can make the drive with a concussion, I can make the drive tonight no worries."

I sighed, nodding. He was right. He was sober as a bird, and at least sort of fresh, unlike me. "Okay," I reluctantly agreed. "But be careful. Stop to rest frequently. Watch out for the other idiots on the road. And text me when you get home."

"I promise," Harry vowed, leaning down to kiss me once more. "I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah, yeah. See you later. Have a nice trip. Stay safe. Et cetera, et cetera." Tank flapped his had at Harry. "Steph needs another drink, and a turn around the dance floor."

"Take care of her," Harry instructed.

"Yes, sir," Tank mock saluted, then took me by the shoulders guiding me back through the crowds of people. "Onward to the bar!"

*o*

The next morning, after ridding myself of the worst of the hangover thanks to Tank's delivery of The Cure and a long hot shower in the granny flat, we met Bobby, Lester in the restaurant of the hotel that had hosted both the reception and their consummation last night for brunch. Well, late lunch technically, given the time of day, but if you factored in the fact that none of us had been awake all that long, it was brunch time.

"How does it feel to be married to the man you love?" I asked Lester over the rim of my coffee cup. He hadn't stopped making goo-goo eyes at Bobby the entire meal, and I was pretty sure he was just waiting for the next opportunity he could get into his new husband's pants.

"Amazing," he assured me. "I've never felt so amazingly, wonderfully, spectacularly-"

"Like a thesaurus?" I finished for him, grinning from ear to ear. It was good to see him so happy. Lester and Bobby deserved each other and the love and adoration they brought to their union. I'd never met to people more perfect for each other.

"You joke, but you'll understand when you're finally hitched to the right guy," Lester said, all serious now. "There aren't enough words to describe how happy I am right now." He squeezed Bobby's hand, which he hadn't let go of for more than a minute the entire meal, prompting Bobby to lean over an kiss his cheek.

"I'm really happy for you," I said. And I was. There was no greater reward than that of the love of your life by your side. But there was something bittersweet in my chest that caused my smile to falter and my fingers to grip the coffee cup a little tighter. A yearning that I hadn't felt before, like something was missing from my life. I took another sip of my drink to cover it up, but now that I'd acknowledged it, it wasn't something I could just ignore.

"And we're happy for you," Bobby said.

I frowned, unsure of what he could possibly be referring to, but as I looked around the table to Lester and Tank, who were both nodding their agreement. "Me?"

"You've found your peace," Tank pointed out.

"It's been six months since your last disaster of any size," Lester added.

"Your relationship with Harry seems to be steady and functional," Bobby pointed out.

"You've made great professional progress," Tank said.

"It looks like your shit is finally coming together," Bobby summarised.

Lester wiped away an imaginary tear as he fake wept, "Our baby girl is all grown up and saving China."

At my, and Tank's, confused looks, Bobby sighed and explained, "We watched Mulan this week."

Tank shook his head and mumbled into his water glass something about never understanding their relationship, then checked his watch and transformed into the organised and serious man I knew him to be when it was necessary. "Time to go," he announced. "You all have flights to catch."

"To the airport!" I exclaimed.

"To Disneyland!" Lester specified pumping his fist in the air. It was very Lester and Bobby to choose Disneyland as their honeymoon destination. Probably, they were going to see how many times they could have sex in the park without getting caught.

"To the car," Tank said drolly.

"You're just sad because you have to stay behind and work," Bobby said as we all stood to leave.

Tank snorted. "I'm looking forward to the peace and quiet around the office with your two gone for the next week."

Leaning down, Lester whispered loudly, "He's gonna miss us. It's gonna be boring without us all. He'll be crying to his cats every night."

*o*

"Honey, I'm home!" I called as I stepped over the threshold of Harry and Reese's front door. T

here was a moment of silence, followed by some crashing and rattling, and finally a door slamming. Reese appeared at the top of the stairs that lead up to the kitchen and living room a second later, appearing out of breath. "Hey," she greeted, flipping a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. "How was the wedding?"

"It was good," I said, dropping my duffle bag and starting to climb the stairs. "Very Lester and Bobby. Jokes in the vows, a rager of a reception, Beauty and the Beast cake toppers."

"Sounds lovely," she said, but I could tell she was distracted. And suspiciously, she didn't move out of the way as I reached the top of the stairs. "I wasn't expecting you home until tonight."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "All the other flights were booked," I explained, trying to sidle past her. "This was the only option for getting home today."

She blocked my path. "Right, right," she nodded. "You probably wanna shower off the travel, right?"

"I'm actually good right now," I said, dodging to the other side to see if I could get past that way. "I could use some water, though."

Her eyes were almost popping out of her head. I'd never seen her this nervous or cagey. Something was obviously going on upstairs that she didn't want me to see. Her next words only confirmed it. "Why don't you go downstairs and start unpacking, getting your clothes into the washing machine, I'll bring you down a bottle of water."

"What are you hiding, Reese?" I demanded, hands on hips. "What's up there that you don't want me to see?"

"Nothing," she said hastily, ushering me back down the stairs. "How about I help you with the laundry?"

At the bottom of the stairs I dug my heels into the carpet, crossing my arms over my chest as I turned to face her with the sternest expression I could muster in the face of her obvious discomfort. I'd never seen Reese so discombobulated. Whatever she was hiding upstairs was either really embarrassing, or it was important that I not see it before it was ready. Or, alternatively, this was all and act to goad me into snooping around. I doubted that was it though. "Reese," I intoned.

"It's nothing," she assured me. "Just go downstairs and give me a chance to clear him, _I mean IT_ , out of the way."

"Who's up there?" I asked, and I could practically see the light shining from my eyes with this new hint of a scandal. You can take the girl out of the Burg, but you couldn't remove the gossip gene from her body. As much as I tried to deny it and squash it down, because I myself hated being gossiped about, there was a little corner of my soul that glowed whenever there was gossip to be had. It was like a tiny dragon that lived inside me and hoarded other people's secrets.

"No one," she said desperately. "Please just-

"Is it Hawk?"

"-go- what? No. How did- what would make you think- I-."

"Oh my God," I breathed, grinning from ear to ear. "You have Hawk up there stuffed in the bathroom, don't you?"

"No," she said firmly. "I just. It's a –"

I shook my head and turned to retrieve my bag from the entryway. Reese had been tight lipped about her current partner for a few weeks now. It was obvious she was seeing someone, and that that someone was making her very content, but nothing Harry or I said or did could convince her to spill the beans. If she was covertly hooking up with Hawk, her secretiveness made so much sense.

When I first found out about Reese's exploits with the Musketeers and Hawk's school yard crush on her, Reese had assured me that a) she only did casual sex, nothing more, b) she was not a whore, and c) nothing would ever come of Hawk's feelings for her, because he was too nice. Fast forward six months, and at least one of those statements was untrue.

My gossip dragon was making happy little smoke rings. I couldn't wait to press her for more details, but for now, I thought I should at least let her tidy up whatever mess she had going on upstairs.

"Okay," I said, hoisting the duffle back onto my shoulder. "I'm going to put a load of laundry on. I'll be all the way downstairs, with my headphones on, so I won't hear anything that's going on up here as you tidy up."

Reese breathed a sigh of relief, her shoulders slumping. "Thank you," she said. "I owe you one."

I allowed a grin to spread across my lips. "You owe me details, is what you owe me," I told her. "I want the where, the when and the how of all this."

* * *

 ** _If it weren't for Reese's interference, the next chapter would be the last. But alas, Reese decided to interrupt, so now you get an extra chapter. I estimate two more chapters before the epilogue._**


	69. Chapter 69

_Welcome to the next chapter. As you can see, it has come not too long after the previous. This is because I know exactly what the contents of these last couple of chapters looks like, and am therefore excited to write them in a way that I haven't really been all that excited about writing in a while. Enjoy._

 **Chapter 69**

"Did you know," I asked, meeting Harry at the door to the garage later that night as he arrived home. "That our Reese has been seeing Hawk behind our backs?"

Harry dropped a kiss on the top of my head, squeezing me tight. "I missed you too," he said sarcastically. "And it's not exactly behind our backs. It's not like he's our friend, or our mortal enemy, or anything like that. He's just-"

"Our boss," I agreed. "I know. But here's the thing. She's been _seeing_ him. Not fucking him. Dating. Like meeting for coffee, dinner and a movie, couples' massages, talking for hours dating."

He scoffed, taking my hand to ensure that I followed him downstairs to our room. He needn't have bothered. I was stuck to him like glue. I may have been drunk last night, but it didn't make my statements about not wanting to be apart from Harry any less true. I was drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. Hopefully not in the same self-destructive way, though. No one wants to die in a ball of flames as they plummet to the ground.

"Reese doesn't _date_ men," Harry pointed out. "She's like a succubus. She siphon's off their sexual energy then casts them out."

"Not this time," I insisted. "You know all those times we thought she was coming home from a nooner? Nope. Spa date. _With Hawk_."

Harry dumped his satchel on the chair in the corner and pulled me into his embrace. "I love you, Steph," he said, pressing a kiss to my neck. "But I'd rather not talk about my sister right now. I was looking forward to seeing you and hearing about your day, not about my sister's love life."

"But don't you think it's interesting how she's acting completely different with Hawk?" I asked.

"The only thing I'm interested in right now," he said, pulling his shirt over his head. "Is a shower. And if someone were to join me in that shower, all the better." He pulled me in for another kiss, and Reese was completely forgotten. As were my pants.

"Okay," I gasped, grinning against his lips. "You twisted my arm."

An hour later, my arm wasn't the only thing he'd twisted while in the shower. He'd treated me to three orgasms as he lathered and rinsed my body without allowing even the barest reciprocation. And as we collapsed onto the bed, towels in a heap on the floor as he trailed his lips down my abdomen, he appeared intent on delivering number four. He worked diligently, driving me into a frenzy. I was flying high, ready to tip over and plummet through time and space, but there was just one thing that I needed.

"Please!" I gasped, desperate for the release he was withholding from me. "Please, Harry!"

His stubbled chin scrapped against my inner thigh as he adjusted the angle of his tongue. "Tell me what you need, Steph," he instructed, breath warm against the most intimate parts of me.

My fingers, which I'd speared through his damp hair, curled as he dragged his tongue along that little bundle of nerves. "You," I panted. "I need you. Inside me."

Obliging my request, he pressed his finger inside to the first knuckle. "Is that enough?" he asked, kissing my thigh, like he thought my desires were fulfilled. "God, you're so wet."

I writhed on the bed, digging my feet into the mattress and rotating my hips, trying to drive him deeper, but he wouldn't budge. In fact, he slid his other hand up my stomach to hold me still. I groaned in frustration, thrashing my head from side to side against the tension building low in my pelvis. I was so close! If only he would. "No," I moaned. "I need _you_ ," I begged. "All of you. I need to feel you deep inside. I need-"

"Steph," he warned, removing his finger, much to my disappointment. It was nowhere near enough, but at least it was something. Instead, here I was hanging on the edge. "We've been over this. I'm waiting till-"

"Marriage," I bit out, rising up on my elbows so I could meet his eyes. "I know, but… Harry. I _need_ you. Why can't you just give me this one thing?"

Harry sat back on his heels, hands braced on his thighs, head bowed. So much for eye contact. While I watched he took several deep breaths, shoulders rising and falling heavily. "I can't give it to you," he said slowly, his voice tense and controlled in a way I'd never heard it before. "Because it is the one thing I told you I couldn't give you unless we're married." Another breath. "When we first started getting physical I warned you that this was the way it would be. No sex until after marriage. I thought you understood that. I thought you respected that."

"I _did,_ " I pointed out, sitting up fully now and dragging the nearest pillow into my lap. "But I thought you were just trying to put it off to be sure you wanted to be with me first. I thought you said it because you were afraid of the intimacy. I thought this was a hat thing. That you needed some kind of security blanket in order to commit. But it's been months. We're good together, Harry. But you don't want to be with me. Why won't you be with me?! Don't you love me?"

"Of _course,_ I love you!" he yelled. "But this isn't some 'hat thing' as you call it. I'm not insecure about the act of sex with you. I don't need a security blanket. I just. Can't. Have. Sex. With. You. Until. We're. Married."

None of this was news to me. But his explanations did nothing to help me understand. I knew he was capable. He'd demonstrated that more than a few times. He was definitely not impotent. So that left me with one thought in my head, circling around, and around, and around. It was me. There was something about me that was preventing him from taking that final step to be with me. "Fine," I sighed quietly, slipping off the bed and snatching his shirt from the floor where he'd discarded it hours ago and pulling it over my head on my way to the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked, stumbling to his feet to follow.

"To the kitchen," I snapped. "To get a sandwich. At least Peanut Butter has never disappointed me." And with that, I slammed the door and stomped my way upstairs, grateful for the fact that he did not attempt to follow.

*o*

The next morning, I awoke on the living room sofa, a blanket covering my naked lower half. I didn't remember making the conscious decision to sleep on the couch, or cover myself, only the thought that I didn't want to go back downstairs to Harry's room, and I didn't want to catch an Uber to Rangeman wearing only a t-shirt, but I was grateful for the dignity someone had been kind enough to afford me.

I flopped onto my back, staring at the ceiling as I replayed the argument Harry and I had had last night. In the light of day, it seemed petty and manipulative of me to try to convince Harry to go against his one and only rule just to get some satisfaction when, by all accounts he'd been providing it consistently for months. I was being selfish, and as a result, I'd quite possibly ruined the best relationship I'd ever had.

I closed my eyes against the tears burning behind my eyes and threatening to blur my vision, and took a few deep breaths. I had to set this right. I had to be an adult and apologise for my actions, and ask for forgiveness for the damage I'd done. I only hoped this wasn't the end of us. I didn't think I could forgive _myself_ if I was the reason we broke up.

"First things, first," I told myself, blowing out a pent-up breath and sitting up. "Pants."

The house was quiet as I crept downstairs to the laundry where my clothes from the weekend should hopefully still be waiting for me to take them out of the drier. Unfortunately, they were not. It was just my luck that Reese or Harry would decided to empty the drier promptly the one time I was banking on our collective avoidance of chores. At the very least, I thought I'd find my clothes in a basket beside the drier. No one was going to take the time and effort to take someone else's clothes to their room. But no. It looked like I was going to have to expand my search for pants to Harry's bedroom.

Which, of course, would still contain a dozing Harry.

One of the benefits of returning from Trenton early and working a few hours on a new project the visiting Florida tech guy was heading up, was that Harry was allowed a late start today. And, unfortunately for me, Harry was one of the few Rangeman employees who never passed up an opportunity to sleep in.

I wanted to clear the air and apologise, yes, but I also wanted a chance to pull myself together first. Facing Harry in this vulnerable, pants-less state was not high on my to-do list. In fact, it was a big, fat to-don't, which is why I was still frozen in the laundry with my hand on the doorhandle wondering if it would be weird if I went back up to Reese's bedroom to borrow a pair of yoga pants instead, when I heard a door open and a pair of feet padded down the hall and up the stairs.

Apparently, luck was on my side after all, since Harry's was the only room on this sub-floor.

I waited a moment, listening to the footsteps as they continued further away, then slipped out of the laundry, crossed the hall and entered Harry's room. I'd been taking up a good thirty to forty percent of his dresser for a few months now, but I didn't need to bother digging through the drawers I'd been allocated, because on the floor beside the door was a basket of the freshly laundered clothes I'd been looking for. My jeans and panties sitting right on top, almost as if they'd been laid out for me.

Wasting no time, I pulled them both on, exchanging Harry's black, Rangeman V-neck for the floaty top I'd worn when I took him to meet my parents on Friday.

I couldn't help but smile at the memory. He was a nervous wreck. The entire drive down from Boston that morning he was quizzing me on what they were like, what he should and shouldn't do or say, whether he should wear his blue button down, or would the navy polo be okay? Were hats allowed inside? And if so would he need to stick to the low-key beanie? Was more formal headwear like a bowler hat too much?

After freshening up at Tank's granny flat, and eventually deciding on the button down and a fedora, his hands had been shaking so much he could barely buckle his belt. There was no way I was putting my life in those trembling fingers, so I'd commandeered the keys from his pocket and insisted on driving. Plus, this way I didn't have to focus on remembering to give him directions to my parent's house. I could just switch my brain to autopilot and drive.

It's very possible that Harry was expecting some kind of Italian-Hungarian inquisition, if the deep breathing he was doing as I pulled up in front of my childhood home was anything to go by. And really, who could blame him? I'd shared more than a few horror stories about my mother's less than loving qualities. But at the same time, the phone conversations I'd had with her in the past couple months have been the most positive and supportive we'd ever managed. I think having hard evidence that Joe was a lying, cheating scumbag had turned her attitude toward me around. Like maybe I wasn't such a complete screw up after all.

Either way, the reception we received upon mounting the front stairs – typically Mom and Grandma were already at the storm door waiting – was astounding. Hugs, and 'I've missed you's, and the kinds of things normal families do when they've been apart for a while, but that didn't usually happen for me. Mom said she was glad we'd finally come to visit without even a hint of a guilt-trip. She welcomed Harry, and Grandma Mazur kept her hands to herself, and Daddy even took him out back for a man moment or something. I'd never really known my father to engage any of my boyfriends in the past, so I had to believe it was a good sign.

I finished preparing my outer-self for the coming apologies by fixing my hair, and made my way back out of the room. I hadn't heard Harry moving around since I was in the laundry, so I had to assume he was upstairs, probably in the kitchen having breakfast. And wondering where on earth I'd gone in my pants-less state, do doubt. So that was my destination. Kitchen. Top floor. Added benefit: coffee and peanut butter.

As I reached the ground floor landing, however, the doorbell interrupted my plan. "I'll get it," I called up to Harry, so that he knew that he didn't have to hurry downstairs. Three strides out of my original flight path was all it took for me to be at the door, reaching for the handle when Harry's shout reached me from upstairs.

"Steph, no!" he called, panic laced through his voice. "Don't open the door."

But it was already too late. The handle was twisted and the door was already inching open, seemingly in slow motion, by the time Harry had uttered his second syllable.

* * *

 _ **The next chapter should, if all things go to plan, be the last chapter-chapter of the story, so I'd like to take a moment now to thank each and every one of you for reading along and not picking up on all my spelling and grammar mistakes, and giving me your feedback and encouragement. It's been a long process to get to this point, so I appreciate everything you've all done to help us get to this point.**_


	70. Chapter 70

_Here it is, people, the last chapter of the story. I've had a blast writing it and I hope the ending does the story justice._

 **Chapter 70**

"Can I help you?" I asked the unsmiling couple on the doorstep. They were older, probably about my parent's age if I had to guess, but had clearly lived a very different lifestyle. There wasn't an ounce of pudge on either of their frames, they wore expensive looking clothes, and were so put together that they could have been celebrities. In fact, something about them was setting off little bells in the back of my mind, like I'd seen them somewhere before. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

The woman turned her head sharply, sending a piercing look at her male counterpart. "Did they move?" she questioned him, which I thought was quite rude, given that I'd just asked a question and she hadn't even bothered to acknowledge my presence beyond widening her eyes when I opened the door.

The man eyed me for a second before averting his eyes to the woman. "I don't know, darling," he replied, adjusting his glasses that were so unobtrusive that I hadn't even realised he was wearing them. "Perhaps they rented the house out? Or maybe they're on vacation and this girl is house sitting for them."

I was dumbstruck by the gall of this couple to knock on the door and then talk about me like I wasn't even there, they hadn't acknowledged my greeting, they hadn't given me the slightest indication of who on earth they were that they thought their behaviour was acceptable. I had half a mind to close the door on them and let them continue their conversation in private. It didn't matter that I was pretty sure the 'they' they were referring to was Harry and Reese. These people needed to learn some manners.

And I needed to stop channelling my mother. Yikes!

Ms Entitled tossed her long, platinum hair over her shoulder in annoyance. I got the feeling the woman didn't like to be inconvenienced. "Why would they do something like that without telling us?" She asked, her perfectly manicured fingers fiddling with the thin gold chain at her neck. "This is just like them. They never did re-"

"Mom!" Harry's voice cut through whatever she'd been about to say as he barrelled down the stairs toward us. "Dad! What a surprised!"

"Mo- wha?" I squeaked, turning my gaze slowly from the pair in the doorway to Harry and back, noting all the similarities in their features. The same ones that had given me that sense that I'd seen them somewhere before. It was so obvious now that the answer had been given to me. Harry had his mother's stormy grey eyes, but his father's strong jay and gently sloped nose. I could see Reese in the set of her father's brow and the shape of her mother's lips. Staring at them both now, I was shocked that I hadn't seen it straight away. Then again, it wasn't like Reese and Harry kept photos of their parents around the place.

"Harold, you really should teach your maid better manners," the man I now knew was Harry's father admonished while I was still trying to wrap my head around this new development. My thoughts were so scattered that his words barely registered as the insult they were. "We've been standing on the stoop for far too long. What will the neighbours think?"

"Maid?" Harry questioned, glancing around in confusion. "I don't have a maid, Dad. Who are yo-" His eyes met mine and the confusion cleared away, eaten by a dangerous expression. When he spoke again there was an edge to his voice that I'd come to recognise as a warning sign that he was close to blowing his top. He wasn't an angry person by nature, but every now and then someone pushed the limits too far and he snapped. Apparently, it didn't take much when that someone was his father. "Mom, Dad," he bit out, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling my flush up against his side. "This is Stephanie Plum. My _girlfriend._ "

My heart did a little flip flop in my chest at those words. He'd uttered them probably a hundred or more times before, but with the way we'd left things last night, and the fact that we hadn't had a chance to clear the air this morning, knowing that he still considered me his girlfriend was just the kind of reassurance I needed if the conversation I'd planned was going to be delayed by these people who liked to call themselves Harry's parents.

I really didn't want our relationship to be derailed by one mistake in the heat of an intimate moment. We'd made a good habit out of being open with each other and talking things through whenever things became difficult or we had concerns. I'd never managed that kind of mutual, mature respect with a guy before, and a voice in the back of my mind wondered if it was even possible to find it with someone else. I loved Harry more widely and more deeply than I had anyone else in my entire life. It was so intense and all-consuming that I wondered how on earth I had believed that what I had with Dickie, or Joe, or even Ranger, was love. He was the other half of my whole.

When these intruders were gone, I was going to have to find a way to show Harry how much he meant to me. But in the meantime…

"Girlfriend?" Harry's mom questioned, eyeing me like a dead cockroach she'd just discovered in the bottom of her coffee cup after drinking the entire contents. _What was it with mothers and disliking me on first sight?_ "You never told me you had a girlfriend."

"Probably because you always manage to steer the conversation back to your own lives and have never, ever shown more than a passing existence in Harry's and my existence, let alone current events." Reese explained from behind us, sporting a similarly edging tone to mother and brother. It must be genetic. I had no idea how long she'd been standing there, but given that her bedroom was the closest to the front door, it was safe to assume that she'd heard enough of the conversation – such as it was – to know that it was time to take charge with her zero-bullshit policy.

Mrs Harry's mom (I couldn't quite remember their names in all the drama brewing) looked scandalised at having been spoken to in such a way by her own daughter. It was actually a reaction that I myself was familiar with, having stood up to my own mother a time or two in the past when she was overstepping her welcome. But whereas my mother was inclined to yell back at me, all this woman did was clutch her heart with one hand and her husbands forearm with the other, looking like she was threatening to pass out if another word was said against her.

"I know I taught _you_ better manners," Mr Dad said sternly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down his nose at Reese in a classic authoritative dad pose. Too bad these were grown adults and not cowering children.

"You did," Reese agreed. "But Gran taught me to be strong and stand up for what I believe in. And right now, I believe you owe Steph an apology."

There was a tense pause while father and daughter glared daggers at each other during which I realised just how grateful I was that my relationship with my mother had turned a corner and we could now be in the same room as each other without picking the other person apart. I didn't realise until dinner last Friday when I'd taken Harry to meet them how exhausting it was to constantly be on the defensive. I hoped that Reese and Harry would eventually be able to find the same kind of peace with their parents, but by the looks of it, today would not be the day. I was pretty sure if they continued their staring contest much longer the air between them would spontaneously combust from the heat of their glares.

As the seconds dragged on, my comfort level decreased. I found myself twining my fist into the back of Harry's t-shirt in an effort to ease some of the tension tightening my muscles. Harry appeared to be in a similar state of discomfort as he nervously fiddled with his hat, the motions getting bigger and bigger as Reese's eyes got narrower and narrower until I was afraid he would accidentally know the Fez off and be rendered paralysed.

Finally, Harry's dad took a deep breath, letting out on a long-suffering sigh and turned to face me. "I'm sorry I assumed you were the maid," he said in the exact same tone my nieces used when Valerie forced them to apologise to each other.

"Now, aren't you going to invite us in?" their Mom asked. She didn't even give me a chance to accept or reject the apology. What a bitch.

Reese crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring her father's earlier stance as she considered her parents with a cold eye. "Do you remember the rules?" she asked.

They shared a stiff look. "Yes," her dad confirmed. "You made them abundantly clear last time."

Reese gave a short nod and stepped aside with a sweeping gesture that indicated only to the stairs that lead up to the kitchen and living areas. Harry too, took a step back out of the way, dragging me with him, since he hadn't released me from his embrace. The man and the woman stepped carefully over the threshold and basically tip-toed their way upstairs, Reese following close behind. "You can't stay long," she informed them briskly. "It's a weekday. We have a little thing called work to get to."

I didn't catch their reply, if there even was one, as they disappeared through the kitchen door. What I did catch, though was the shaky breath that Harry let out, as he bowed his head, using his free hand to press thumb and forefinger into his eyes socket. "So those are my parents," he explained unnecessarily without looking up.

"Yeah, I got that impression," I replied. "Who drops in for a visit on a Monday morning at-" I glanced at the clock on the wall, realising that I had no idea what time it was. "Seven-fifteen?"

"They're retired," he pointed out. "Every day is the same to them. Work days are a foreign concept. But maybe one day they'll remember to inform us when they're planning to visit."

I would have sorely loved to be able to raise one eyebrow at that point to express how ridiculous I thought hat statement was, but as it was I could not, and realistically, with Harry's head still down and his eyes being steadily pushed into the back of his skull, the effect would have been lost anyway. Instead I settled for a sarcastic comment: "Are you sure?"

"Not at all," Harry said, finally lifting his head and dropping his hand to look at me. "Are you okay?"

"I've been called much worse than a maid," I reminded him. "And at much higher volumes to boot. It takes more than a petulant parent to get under this thick skin I've developed. I'm fine."

For a moment, Harry just looked at me, probably trying to gauge how much of my statement was true and how much a brave face I'd pulled on like a mask. "We should get upstairs and save Reese," he said once he was satisfied that I wasn't inwardly falling apart. "They're probably already nagging her about grandchildren."

"Your parents want grandchildren?" I asked incredulously.

Harry nodded. "But only for the same reasons they tolerated us," he explained. "To show off to their high society friends. It's a very sore point for them that all their golf buddies have grandkids to brag about and all they've got is a pair of unmarried adult children who barely tolerate their presence."

"Tragedy," I mock gasped.

*0*

Forty-five minutes late, with coffee and parental admonishments out of the way, Reese announced that it was time to wrap it up and go. Harold Senior (how did I forget that Harry was named after his father? The very thought of this bastard being so up himself that he insisted on giving his son the same name made me want to puke) and Betty (insert more puking here) had protested, saying that they'd barely had any time to catch up with their _beloved_ children, and _needed_ to get to know their son's girlfriend better. Reese had placated them with the promise of at Suzan's Diner on the weekend _if they were still in town_ , which caused Betty's nose to wrinkle, but they accepted the offer and started gathering their things to leave.

While Harry and Reese walked them to the door to say goodbye, I continued on downstairs to get changed for work. I would have really loved to spend the extra time this morning setting things straight with Harry, but he didn't seem to be holding it against me at least, and I couldn't be late for work. Mungo had promised that I'd be starting work on a new module of field readiness today, and I was actually a little bit excited about it. Go figure.

I was dressed and ready to go, en route to the garage as Harry rounded the corner from the front door. He smiled when he caught sight of me, tugging on the tassel of his fez. "They're gone," he said, relief evident in every single one of those eight letters as they blew past his lips.

"Thank God," I breathed. "I'll see you at work later?"

"Wait," he said, the relieved expression melted away by something scarily serious. "I wanna talk before you go."

My heart was racing in my throat. Nothing good ever came after the words _I wanna talk_. This was it. He was gonna break up with me. Last night had been the last straw afterall. He'd changed his mind. I'd pushed too hard. He didn't want me. My thoughts were spirally out of control, replaying everything wrong I'd done since the moment I'd met him, constricting my lungs until it was all I could do to croak out, "I'm gonna be late if I don't leave now."

"Blame it on traffic, then," he said, taking a step forward.

I was still six feet away from the door that led to the garage, but I reached a hand towards it anyway. "I can't-" I tried to protest, but he cut me off.

"Please, Steph," he implored. "This is important."

"I can't let you break up with me and then go to work like nothing is wrong," I told him, my voice wavering on every word as the waterworks battered the dam behind my eyes. If I wasn't careful I'd be a blubbering mess before he got two words out. "Can we- Can we please just wait until tonight? At least then I can cry myself to sleep in the privacy of my own apartment, instead of bawling my eyes out on Mungo's gym equipment."

"Break…what?" I heard Harry mumbled behind me, confusion clear in his voice, but I was already closing the distance between the stairs and the garage. I needed to escape before I fell apart. "Steph, wait!" he called as I pulled the door open, slipping inside and making a beeline for the Rangeman SUV waiting there. "Steph! Come on! Just wait a goddamn second!"

He was right behind me as I practically jumped into the drivers seat, blocking my ability to close the door and leave. "Please," I whispered, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles as I stared through the windscreen at Reese's bike hanging on the wall. "Let me go."

"I'm not breaking up with you," Harry said exasperatedly, laying a hand on mine and attempting to prise my fingers off the wheel. "God, Steph, why would you even think that?"

"I pushed your boundaries last night," I listed, snatching my hand into my lap as he broke it's grip. "I tried to make you have sex with me, knowing that you didn't want to. It was basically attempted ra- oh!"

Without warning, Harry scooped me up out of the car and carried me around the door to the bonnet, setting me down so that I sat with my legs dangling over the headlights. He stood before me with his hands on either side of my face, forcing me to make eye contact even though all I wanted to do was shrivel up and die. "Stephanie Michelle Plum, don't you dare even think about finishing that word," he admonished through gritted teeth.

"But, I-"

"But nothing," he insisted. "I love you. And I'm not breaking up with you. And you're wrong."

"Wrong?"

"You said I didn't want to have sex with you last night," he reminded me. "That is a complete falsehood. I have wanted to have sex with you since the moment you latched on to Q's earlobe with your nails when he made those derogatory comments about you."

"Th-that's," I stammered, unsure of what to say to that. "Um, what?"

"Oh yeah," he nodded, a knowing grin creeping out from under his sincere expression. "I thought that was super hot. It was a good thing you were both distracted because Little H was giving you a standing ovation." He let that sink in a moment before continuing. "Every single time things have gotten hot and heavy between us, I've battled with myself over whether I should break my vow or not. Last night, when I was yelling at you, it wasn't because I was angry at you for pressuring me. It was because I wanted so much to give you what you wanted, but-"

"You can't?" I finished quietly when he trailed off before the end of his sentence.

He nodded, hopping up onto the hood of the SUV next to me and dragging my hand into his lap. "When I was in college," he started, tracing the lines of my palm with the tip of his index finger, "there was this girl that I really liked. Genevieve Runcorn. She was a cheerleader, solid eleven out of ten, completely out of my league, but for some reason, when I plucked up enough courage to ask her on a date, she agreed." He paused to take a deep breath. "I took her to a nice restaurant, and then putt-putt golf, and when I was dropping her off at her dorm, she invited me in for a night cap, if you know what I mean." He looked up at me to be sure I understood where this was going and was okay with the story continuing. "So there she was, splayed out on the bed, her dress hiked up so that I could just see the edge of her panties as I fumbled with my belt buckle. When I finally got my pants down and I was on a nervous flight path for the bed, the doors all crashed open and the room filled with camera flashes and laughter."

"Oh no," I hissed.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Next thing I know, I'm surrounded by Genevieve's friends, all sneering and laughing at me. _Did you really think she would sleep with you? So disgusting. Horny little creep!"_ Twining our fingers together now, he lifted our joined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "I was so humiliated that I vowed that the next person I had sex with would be my wife. I figured no one would go so far as to marry a guy just to humiliate him when they were about to consummate the marriage, right?"

"You know I would never do that to you, Harry," I assured him, turning so that he could see the sincerity in my eyes. "I would sooner cut off my own arm than intentionally hurt you."

The sigh that escaped his lips was heavy, filled with more than a decade of self preservation and trauma. "I know," he said. "But this is the way it has to be. I can't go back on my word. Nineteen year old me would have a conniption."

Silence settled over us for a few minutes as he resumed his gentle stroking of my hand. There was a question there somewhere that he was trying to work himself up to, I could tell. And I had a feeling I knew what kind of question it would be when he eventually loosed it into the air, and I was prepared to answer truthfully when he did, but the next words to leave his lips were not a question. "Steph, I know you have your reservations about marriage. You've been there before and been stung already. You admitted yourself that you have issues with commitment, but," he took a deep breath, gazing into my eyes for just a millisecond too long for me to remain calm. He'd awoken the swarm of butterflies that lived in my stomach and alarm bells were going off in my head. "Do you think you could see yourself marrying me one day?"

All the air left my lungs on a weird, unladylike whimper of a sound as my throat constricted and my eyes filled with tears. "Yeah," I choked out, smiling a wet and wobbly smile. "I think I could."

 **The End**

* * *

 _Stay tuned for a fun little epilogue scene coming in the next couple days (depending on when I get time to write again). And thanks once again for sticking with me._

 _For now, though, it's sleep time, since I have to be up in a little less than five hours. (Suffer for the art!)_


	71. Epilogue

_Surprise! I found time to write instead of napping. And then I couldn't wait to post, so here's the epilogue._

 **Epilogue**

"Hold up," Harry said as I closed the passenger door of the SUV that had dropped us off at the curb and started toward the front door. He was still hauling our suitcases out of the trunk.

We'd just arrived home from our month long honeymoon in Canada (a gift from his parents) and as much as I'd enjoyed being away and exploring this whole new chapter of our relationship, I just really wanted to lie on a bed that wasn't made that wasn't made with such precision that I had to wrestle the sheets out from under the mattress just to fit my feet under the covers. The last few days I'd been feeling more and more run down, starting with my a runny nose, and progressing on to include a chesty cough, body aches and headaches. Harry was adamant that it was the flu and I needed to see a doctor, but I'd insisted that I was fine, not wanting to interrupt our inaugural vacation with doctor waiting rooms and antibiotics. Now that we were home, though, I just wanted a nap I wanted to nap for approximately a month, and when I woke up from that nap, I would call Stitch and get him to check me out.

"I'm supposed to carry you across the threshold," Harry reminded me, dragging the suitcases over to where I'd paused in the middle of the sidewalk.

"You can carry me wherever you like," I assured him with a tired smile. "But how are you going to carry me _and_ the suitcases?"

He looked down at the offending luggage, then over at the door. "Give me a second," he said, hauling the suitcases the rest of the distance. " _Do not_ cross that threshold unless you're in my arms," he warned, pointing a stern finger at me as he dug around I his backpack for his keys. "I mean it."

I held up my hands in the universal 'I surrender' position and resolved to wait for my husband on the doorstep while he dragged out suitcases into the foyer. A second later he was back in front of me, a goofy grin spreading across his face. "I've been looking forward to this," he informed me, leaning down to capture my lips in a chaste kiss.

I grinned back, leaning into him. "You said the same thing on our wedding night, as I recall," I pointed out. "Which one ranks higher on your bucket list?"

"The wedding night, for sure," he said, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. "For a little while, I was worried that it wouldn't live up to all the hype, but it did. Hands down the single greatest night of my life."

"That good, huh?"

A chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating against my cheek. "Absolutely," he said seriously. "I give it an eighteen out of ten. Would bed again."

"As you've proven on many, many occasions since then," I reminded him.

"Give me a minute to get you in off the street and I'll prove it to you again." And without warning, he swept me up into his arms, assuming the traditional bridal carry and took two steps over the threshold. "Welcome home, Mrs Gelbkopf," he said before kissing me once more.

As the kiss slowly deepened, he adjusted his hold, allowing me to slide down his body, feeling every exquisite ridge and valley, until my feet were just about touching the floor. He let out a delicious moan as he pulled my body closer to his, and I could have stayed in that moment forever, if it wasn't for the fact that I could feel a cough creeping up my throat and if I didn't act fast I'd be spitting phlegm into my husband's mouth. Not exactly how I wanted to start out married life, so I quickly shoved at his chest, forcing the kiss to end as I turned my head to the side and commenced hacking my guts up.

"Sorry," I gasped several seconds later when I could finally breathe again. "That's a bit of a mood killer. Maybe I should give Stitch a call."

Harry, ever the joker, looked at his watch. "We've been married approximately five minutes, and you're already suggesting we resort to inviting another man into our bed to keep things interesting? Wow. If I knew you were going to get bored of me so quickly I would- woah, woah, woah. Why don't you take a seat right here and I'll get you some water."

"Don't make me laugh!" I wheezed between coughs as Harry guided me to the bottom of the stairs. "My lungs can't take it."

"Well if you'd agreed to see a doctor when I said-" he admonished, even as he walked away to find me something to ease the coughing fits. "Just don't move until I get back. I don't want you dying of asphyxiation just yet. I'm not prepared to be a widow."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I drawled, waving him away, but as soon as he was out of sight, I stood up and grabbed the basket of mail Reese had collected for us while we were away and started sorting through it. If I was gonna be made to rest like an invalid on the stairs eight steps into our home, I was at least going to make myself useful. By the time Harry started back down the stairs I had a pile of junk mail beside me a fistful of envelopes addressed to me, a stack for Harry in the basket, and a few addressed to the both of us in my lap.

"Anything interesting?" he asked, setting the bottle of water he'd retrieved next to the junk and picking up his own pile to flip through.

I slid two envelopes out of the pile and held them up for Harry to see. One was black adorned with an whimsical swirling sliver script, the other pearlescent white with a more minimal font, black block letters with just splash of decoration to liven it up. "A couple of fancy-pants envelope," I said. "What do you think they could be?"

"Open them and find out," he instructed, pulling out his phone. "I'll call Stitch and see if he can do a house call."

After a quick game of eeny meeny miny moe, I decided to open the white envelope first. The black one was fancier, after all, so logic would state that it was the most interesting. I'd build to a big finish. Inside was white card, clearly custom designed and professionally printed. An invitation to join a group called ' _RangeWives Boston_.' Interesting.

Curiosity piqued, I set the invitation on top of the basket and picked up the black envelope. It, too, contained a professionally printed custom card: black, like the envelope and sporting the same swirling silver lettering as the outside as it invited me to join the ' _Wives of Rangeman, Boston Chapter.'_

"Curiouser and curiouser," I muttered to myself, staring at the two cards as a stream of questions started circling my head.

"Stitch should be around in about an hour," Harry informed me, tucking his phone back into his pocket and leaning over to get a look at what treasures I'd uncovered. "Whatcha got?"

I turned the cards around so that he could see them properly, and allowed the words to sink in for a moment before I plucked one of the questions that was louder and more insistent than the others, allowing it to spill from my lips. "Why does it feel like I've just been invited to pledge for two rivalling sororities?"

* * *

 _ **Once again, I would like to thank you for sticking with me through the long and stilted journey to get see this story to completion. It means so much to me that people actually read my work and enjoy it.**_

 _ **This is the final installment of this particular story, but if you're new here, I have plenty more when it came from on my profile page. There will now be a bit of a break while I allow the muse to reset before NaNoWriMo next month.**_


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